My muffler's exhausted, my breaks are all broke My tires are tired, my car is a joke I got me one mission for my slippin' Trans. Just get me to Heaters, so I can play with my band My wipers are wiped-out, my fender is dent My horn is forlorn, my speedometers spent My pistons are pissed off, just got the drive shaft But if I make it to Heaters I'll have the last laugh Cause there's something about that there little red bar With the pitchers and the pigs-knuckles straight from the jar I keep going back there again and again And I'll see you next Friday if the roof don't cave in My steerin's God-fearin', my 8-Track don't play The glove box got live bait from Opening Day It's a Trooper's wet dream, a mechanic's worst fear But it's a Mercedes Benz after a six-pack of beer And my blinker's no thinker, my 3-door needs paint The Monoxide made Walt at 'Motor Vehicles' faint He said your headlights don't work, I said they work up 'til dark After that I'm at Heaters and that's where I'll stay parked Just north of Sussex in a little red bar With the wood stove and hound dogs it sure beats my car So I keep going back there again and again and I'll see you next Friday if the roof don't cave in Dimitri Thomas Checkur, Copyright 2002