90 In November

Smoking like a sinner Buzzing like a bee 90 in November Keeping up the speed Pick up trucks are working To pick up the pace Lonely times are louder In the Lone Star State Technicolored sun Like when I was a kid 90 in November Heating up the grid Fast times of getting way too high Cardboard cut out cowboy Waving my goodbye Still it seems Like it doesn't mean a thing Still it seems Like it doesn't mean a thing I've been trailing off Lack of punctuation Yelling like a dove And sleeping like a question Picking up a pen that's running out of ink Crossing my eyes and dotting all my T's Still it seems Like it doesn't mean a thing Still it seems Like it doesn't mean a thing Pressing my luck With a $2 fill up Might not get far but I'm fast Making out with black lungs And a heart of gold Going once Going twice Now I'm sold Going once Going twice Now I'm sold Going once Going twice Now I'm sold