Mountain Eats Mountain - Two Seater

He pulled up in that old two seater
With a brown paper bag and a white wife-beater
Pulled his dark shades down over his eyes
Thinkin' "man, what a clever disguise"
Reaching 'round back to grab his brown sack
A .38 in fact, his plans improvised
Hit the doors and they all flee the theater
Give all the bored folks a free feature
And he drifts right through those sliding doors
With the grace of a swan
Rests his finger on the trigger
Trains his sight on the dawn
Plays a straight face to the teller
But she knows something's wrong
Most days i hate to say it ain't up to fate
Might as well say so long
We trace each passing frame where things go astray
This ain't where a saint belongs
Most days i hate to say it ain't up to fate
Might as well say so long
He pulls out with those black tires squealing
Hot black top heated by the California weekend
Cursing "damn, now I'm down to five lives"
Hand pressed against his lower right thigh
Hits the edge of town with the top turned down
That chasing sound, an adrenaline high
In his mind he still thinks he'll beat it
Holy men can never be defeated
And he hit that curb
With the driving force of a raging steed
Pedal pressed against the floorboard
Turn, tap brake and release
Bright blue lights on the horizon
Play the song for the scene
You know I hate to say you might as well pray
Might even find some peace
Good thing this ditch is serene like out of a dream
The way the grass sways so sweet
Say hey to the cavalry
They'll take you away for a nice long vacation retreat
Best put your hands to the sky
Unless you wanna die
Guess maybe then you'll be free

Written by:
Jon Prosser

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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