I can cool my heels on my new living room couch.
My rides are all about who drives.
My rides are all about who drives.
Always ready for high fives:
you say, Put ‘er there, and I say, Ouch!
Still fifty more minutes till my ride arrives.
you say, Put ‘er there, and I say, Ouch!
Still fifty more minutes till my ride arrives.
This definitely won't be the last time I see
my ride alive,
though they like to drive with a foot-pedal clutch,
and that definitely decides who drives,
though they like to drive with a foot-pedal clutch,
and that definitely decides who drives,
because I‘m actually more of
an automatic guy,
so I ride in the passenger seat in a poetic slouch.
But there are still forty-five more minutes till my ride arrives,
so I ride in the passenger seat in a poetic slouch.
But there are still forty-five more minutes till my ride arrives,
and then it’ll be all about what chimes and what jives
and who has an empathetic touch—
so it really doesn’t matter who drives,
and who has an empathetic touch—
so it really doesn’t matter who drives,
except that it shouldn’t be
this white-
haired queer, fluttering their eyebrows.
Just thirty-seven minutes now till my ride arrives.
I’ll ride shotgun, you drive.
haired queer, fluttering their eyebrows.
Just thirty-seven minutes now till my ride arrives.
I’ll ride shotgun, you drive.
