Millennium Dodo 2 - ATMOSPHERE

Never run of the mill when I shoot the pill

I’m a son of a spill, I’ve got boots to fill

Showed up with a deuce-deuce of swill

And a guardian angel on my Coupe de Ville

Shark in the lake, heart strike the drum

Mark landscape with a dart-like tongue

Spit my blood from deep in the gut

Smoking cigarette butts with my finger-less gloves

Pull over at the welcome sign and raise a toast to those that fell behind

Everybody else got a crippled spine

From tryna' take it back to a simple time

Keep a little pine tree, hang from my rear-view

Beats turned up just enough not to hear you

Gonna swim till the fins get torn

I shall return, keep the engine warm

Millennium Dodo

Pull out your telephone and take you a photo

You didn’t know?

Better read the logo

You don’t wanna play around and get ocho

Recline like I don’t care

The world is mine and I ain’t gon' share

Now everybody blow smoke in the air

I keep my eyes on the road, but I know that you stare

Now I was at the party sleeping on the couch

When I decided to grab a bottle of something and bounce

I’d rather be by myself

Than have to navigate another fake cry for help

On the beaten path with a bandaged fist

To represent the last half of the damn I give

Play me in slow-mo', fly like a blimp

Millennium Dodo, drive with a limp

Windows down, heater blasting

Got my coffee but I need some aspirin

Watch me merge into speeding traffic

With the truck-stop plastic, cheap sunglasses

Show respect

You broke down on the side of the road, wanna choke my neck

I’ve got a glove-box full of stolen checks

And I drink moonshine that the chrome reflects

Flannel, look like a farmer

Underneath camo, look like a hunter

With that ski mask, look like a robber

Sleeping in the barn with the doctor’s daughter

Got stories to wax, pour me a glass

I run with the ghosts of warriors past

South side, call it pop life

Y’all catch frostbite waiting at a stoplight

All over the map we get festive

It’s a matter of class

You can tell by my lack of attractive skeptics

You just mad at my mustache

Hey girl, we’ll always have Memphis

But right now, I want breakfast

With the pedal to the metal 'til we hit West Texas

Then cross to Mexico to see my dentist