Saterday night ride

The clock on the wall reads us 5 hours late
Her moms on the front porch In her eyes a look of hate
In her her one hand a bottle jack in her other hand a gun
I hope that old bitch can't hold it up straight

Gota help me out again wind
Hole in my dad's pickup aint gona make him my friend
Can't get out, can't negotiate I move now
She's coming with me Theres still more fun to be had

The wind my truest friend
Its time for you to get behind me again
Theres Whiskey on my breath and weed in the dash
And the cops are on our ass

No time for a consicence
I gota move fast
Gota help me man
I know my luck aint gona last

That is how it happened and i pray to the wind often

i like the 3rd stanza :D