Highway to the Town

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The Resting Wicked

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The man has got a '44
Strapped around his waist
He sits on his rusted bike
With the serial number erased

List in his hand
Has certain names written down
He's cruising down the highway
Highway to the town

He's driving down steady 
As he takes a sip of Jack
Escaped from hell and knowing
He can never ever go back

Wheels keep on spinning
No way to buckle down
He's cruising down the highway
Highway to the town

Those velvet tired eyes
Are filled with danger and pain
A little bag in his pocket
Filled with the best cocaine

On his snake leather boot
Is a red bandana tied down
He is cruising down the highway
Highway to the town

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