The Trunk

The clock is tickin' but we're taking it slow,
we're marking down the minutes on a paper we stole
so pack annother pinch of that yukon gold
and lets wiggle down the middle of a country road
I've got a van full of curtains with a bed in the back
and 87 fender and a pevey stack
a double tape deck with the Journey box set
and a mariachi mama rockin' castonets

we're getting nowhere on the way to the show
we're messing with the arizona boarder patrol
they're looking at us funny 'cause we're passing a bowl
but they'll never get their fingers on a slippery soul
we keep the ladies feeling week in the knees
and I can tell they want our avocado and cheese
but ain't no average mama getting up on these
unless she's got a pint of burbon and a couple of Gs

'cause I'm gone, don't lead me on
You can take me home, but don't lead me on

The place is hoppin and we're rocking it late
it looks as though there aint another face in the state
but the owner tried to short us saying such is fate
so we slid a couple cases down his fire escape
now we're heading to the party and we're holding it down
the van's so full of people that we're scraping the ground
we don't know where we're going we're just rolling around
but the air is getting heavy with that hooligan sound

I'm gone, don't lead me on
You can take me home, but don't lead me on