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letra de sore - buck 65

vultures and helicopters, overhead i’m breaking down
used car blues, it’s no time to joke around
the only solution i can think of so far
is to smash out the windows with a crowbar
and as the headlights shatter into stars one by one
i curse at the road and try to knock out the sun
i kick in the corner panels, son of a wh0r-
the paint starts to chip off as i rip off one of the doors

same hotel room again with the right mixture
of terrible smells and dead flies in the light fixture
i listen to the oldies station, half asleep and kind of smokey
girl in the next room is howling like a coyote
hand in my pants, feeling like a phyllistine
all eyes empty, every door way a guillotine
i’m drunk on loneliness, out of shape and half eaten
the phone don’t work and god’s in a staff meeting

out of breath at the end of a long summer
waiting for a phone call that isn’t a wrong number
a smile from a pretty girl, feet don’t fail me
i sleep like a baby and get out of jail free
i spit my t–th in my hand and read the cl-ssifieds
poke holes in my memories until i’m satisfied
i’m drawn to familiar environments and dangers
i look at my photo albums and all i see are strangers

- buck 65

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