Pontiac

It’s a Pontiac
It’s a '63 Stratochief with a three on the tree
And it belongs to me
And my baby
Her and me
We go driving down old highway seventeen
She puts on the radio
Rolls down the window
Lays her head back
It’s a Pontiac
It ain’t got no wild horses painted on the side
And the objects in the mirror are precisely their own size
It’s got a chrome Indian in front of the door
Might be an Apache or an Arapaho
Or a Pontiac
There was an incident last night
At seventeen and third
It all happened so fast nobody’s really sure
But somebody held the rifle, somebody held the sack
And as fast as they were there
Well they were gone just like that
In a Pontiac
The anti-freeze is boiling and the oil pressure’s low
And the pedal’s to the metal and it’s as fast as it can go
And the stain on her shoulder I getting darker you know
And the radio keep blasting out the facts
It’s a Pontiac