O, moron of the road
in your car of baby poop gold
You had to pass on the right –
racing the other moron – mid-flight
I saw you coming, my mirrors in use
That right lane ended, and you nearly in my caboose
The gentle sway of my wheels `cross that lane
Did nothing to get your attention, just disdain
I looked ahead, I had a plan
The pit maneuver, oh man!
I watched the hill rise, saw the silvery glint of the rail
If I accidentally kill you, how long am I in jail?
What they say of Volvo drivers is true:
Non-driving motherfuckers, all of you.
I know you cared naught for me on that road
Racing along, just a flash of baby poop gold.