| Rollin in the Corolla
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| Only sipping the cola
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| All your lonely friends
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| They be making amends down in Espanola
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| Gonna rip the seat off
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| Even turn the heat off
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| Backroads with roses on the mound
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| Where your cousin veered off
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| If we ever get through the rushing water
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| I know, I know, I know we’ll make it all the way
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| Holy water in the tumbler
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| Forgetting names like a mumbler
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| I’m getting humbler
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| Oh, she’s a button fumbla
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| Up above me soars a rumbler
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| There’s miles to stumbler
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| Nobody ever took home a grumbler
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| Your mother don’t give a damn what your father bought her
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| She know, she know, she knows that we went all the way
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| There’s the clatter of a king-can clanking the ground
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| Twenty stories up, you still hear the sound
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| And the sun’s up on top of the world
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| Touching our faces in all the delicate places
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| And there’s all this beauty just screaming out
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| It’s like a goddamn forest 'bout ready to sprout
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| It’s cracking them floors and the grout
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| I feel my tongue making shapes in my mouth
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| I couldn’t help but look down
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| At my feet rocking back beneath me
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| I wonder if they know how
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| My heels could crush the city
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| How the feeling in your body fills you up
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| With joy |