
Big Mouth
Oh, if only the Big Mouth would go on.
I give it gas and gear it all day long
To drive the broken old bastard to where it belongs.
Oh, come on Big Mouth, you roll on.
I work the clutch like a diphthong switch,
Pressing hard every time I got an itch
And shift those gears without an itch.
I work that clutch like a well-worn bitch.
I whine Big Mouth up to its highest gear.
Then no more whining will I hear,
The wind whipping by, the sky clear.
I whine Big Mouth up to its highest gear.
Only a little more left on this rutted road.
Big Mouth strains under its stolen load.
Big Mouth acts as though its dark future is foretold.
I slam my foot on Big Mouth and drive bold.
.
.
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