and more like them, all the pretty inviting lights
fancy carpets, the waitresses with short shorts
handing out fruity mimosas
a lot of money was made///
walked out the door with a blonde on each arm
sammy frank dean johnny and all the rest
where’d they all go, they’re all gone now
all the money’s gone and so are the blondes
I know where I’m going
away from the lights and the crush of people on the strip
away from the buskers and the people hustling for money
on the bridges that cross the streets full of the wide eyed masses
the tourists playing roulette, blackjack, craps, baccarat
arm wrestling and losing to the one armed bandits
sitting in the the sports betting parlor for hours
the old men passing out cards for x-rated shows on every corner
I’d rather be riding around in my van in the hot barron desert
sandstorm city
visiting my off the grid friends
who have a rusting vehicle or two in their front yards
62 chevy pickup maybe--can’t tell
an old vw bug once red
now sandblasted away--- melting into the earth
and another in the backyard which abuts to some cactus and a whole lot of nothing
no damn homeowners association trying to tell them what to do
man it’s hot out here
my sweat is sweating
but there’s a fridge full of some twelve ouncers
waiting for me
we’ll sit around his torn furniture living room
with his latest barely dressed
railing against whatever comes to mind
the economy, the government, stuff we really don’t care about
but like to give opinions on
he’ll show me that new old bike he just bought
that he rides into the sunset; helmet hell no
