We went for a ride in your old Ford
You complained about being that bored
And I thought I'd crash and burn
With you unless I poised on tightrope
Until you quit your hopes of
Giving me the inside dope
On your grueling mope
While pulling over for a pit stop
I heard you ramble on about your scorn
And then I blew my top and said
That heads would roll
Just keep yoour pants on
I'd rather do time but first of all
I'd touch you with a ten-foot pole
There's gonna be big road toll
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem