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Headed West to Chicago, it's a straight-shot on I-80 In the back of a trailer, which besides for us is empty Well it's 98 degrees, and I'd kill for a breeze But this ride'll take us all the way Besides Mikey's got sticks to keep rhythm to this shit So I guess that we'll be okay... okay Too bumpy for a journal, and if it weren't what would I write That could commemorate as well as these four chords this ride Well if we don't wind up dead, we'll soon have a bed Or at least a roof in Chicago tonight Besides Mikey's got sticks to keep rhythm to this shit So I guess that we'll be alright... alright Half naked and sweaty, we are laughing on the floor 'Cause when your world is a trailer, there is no poverty, there is no war. Well the water's run out and I have not a doubt We must be breaking a dozen laws But Mikey's got sticks to keep rhythm to this shit I'd take this ride again without a pause... without a pause Aus Songtexte Mania