Take the boot off my driving foot,
It’s gonna take a while.
The low fuel light’s burning,
but we can make it a few more miles down the road.
Out past the strip mall doctor’s offices.
Just wanna get the heck out of this town.
You gotta use your arm
to get that window down,
but baby when it’s down
and you’re wearing that windblown crown,
Queen of the Road,
nothing’s gonna stop you now.
These highways make that interstate
seem like the most God-awful place.
That’s why we’re running parallel
to all them suckers driving straight through hell.
We got farmers out tilling in the field,
while I-57’s billboards will tell you
how to think and feel.
Them sad bastards they are missing the real deal.
Like a factory the same color blue as the sky.
It makes it hard to know
where people go to work and where birds begin to fly.
We just follow that curve
and drive right on by.
Reaching a Southern enough location,
start picking up a St. Louis station.
Them Blues singing truth to me and you.
Pass a painted sign,
saying that “Jesus Is Lord.”
And that’s fine,
we’ll make it home by suppertime.
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