based on true events recounted by Hawaiian Garbage, this tune hit #20 on Dandelion Radio's Festive 50 in December of 2009
lyrics
Woke up in a Seville, by the side of the highway,
Against the powder blue backseat and the door.
Brown sack filled with cash, I used for a pillow,
A .38, A liquor store.
I don't start walkin
To end up like Dustin Hoffman,
A hobbled counterfeit
In Papillion.
(alternate) I don't start walkin
To end up like Chris Walken,
A hobbled clairvoyant
In the Dead Zone.
I sniff my revolver,
Fan out the
Liquor store's money
That I've been sleepin upon.
Naught is extinguished. My cousin's distinguished.
He calls crows, they land on his arm.
Some kinda Montana, I mean, Arizona,
Well anyway, down on the farm.
The trooper reached over to a white paper bag.
He could tell when a girl's feelin rotten.
I had it half eaten by the time we reached the station.
I thought it homemade, but found it was boughten.
Not just for nothin, I mention my cousin.
He calls crows, they land on his arm.
Some kinda Montana, I mean, Arizona,
Well anyway, down on the farm.
Affix a crossover to that night in October,
To those times, to these times, besotten.
I kept a cherry bed in my heart just for you.
I thought it handmade, but found it was boughten.
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