james wunderlich 'wonder-lick; poetic and cinematic; east coast rocker; star studs on a leather jacket; hometown streets and the darkness on the edge of the
Well, I tipped-topped the tank at a local party store.
And I gave her the gun in the back lot just to hear the roar
of twin dueling carbs spittin’ Hellfire sharp.
She’s demon tiger fast, even in park.
I’m gonna shut ‘em down the Interstate do or die
with a Four Fifty-Seven loaded five on the fly.
I’m a Dark Street fighter with a heavy chevy sword.
Just one pale rider, wild and dangerous
restless and bored.
Running up and down this turnpike like it’s my home turf
in a Detroit Motor City muscled piece of work.
Just passing the time - which is hard as cats to kill.
Out on the road
like Hell on wheels with all the frills.
Scratch don’t own me and that’s a fact.
So get those road liars off my back.
Put ‘em all someplace where they belong.
Poor lost souls each one on a road that’s wrong.
Me, I’m just a soldier of fortune out on the wire.
Got a used car checked the miles…kicked the tire.
Along the Interstate the billboards rise up cold and sharp.
They spell out the day’s road sermon
and the naming of the parts
like red lights you hit on the run
put there by lost boys just having fun.
Now there’s one for the money and two for the show.
Don’t let ‘em tell you where you’ve been
or where you gotta go.
Up and down New York twenty see the gypsy fires glow.
And up ahead the western sun is sinking low.
Gotta find a better station on the radio,
tune out all this babble and go, go, go.
Now there’s nothing in my wallet left to pay the toll
and nothing to do but roll, roll, roll.
