Cheap black suit and cheesy tie
A Lincoln Continental I could never buy
Collapsing dress shoes and standard shades
A bagful of maps and tools of the trade
Ain’t got no spare, ain’t got no jack
Black vinyl matron spread out in the back
With face like an ostrich and demeanor of a hen
She don’t like my vibe, she’ll never use me again
And the wipers are scraping out a rhythm
Turning diamonds into smears on my windshield
Doing nothing to improve my vision
As I’ve been blinded since I left that rosy field
And I’m cruising through the swampy stoned summer
Of a northeastern megalopolis heartbreak night
Armed with a thesaurus
Three verses and a chorus
Just another turnkey turkey behind a pair of headlights.
Slunkatelic, slumpadelic, leaning over the wheel
Coaxing a ton of aging automobile
From Dead Bank and Ocean Grave all the way to Warkyland
JFK, LGA, like the back of my hand
Well I’ve been haunting the highways like the
ghost of Tom’s wraith
Since the contract ran out and you ran out of faith
Right back to square one, starting from scratch
Squeezing more measly rides from dispatch
And there’s dandruff on my windshield,
flakes from heaven
How the hell did I get from May to December
Fueled by heartattack in a cup from 7-Eleven
Coughing up things I’d rather not remember
I’m not content to be another slow rider
in the fast lane
Through this classic South Jersey churnpike landscape
Collecting my ramblings
Through meanderings and amblings
Just another turnkey turkey dreaming of escape.
And I watch the signs …
NY and north, PA and south, Del Mem Br
GS Pkwy, NJ Tpke, Outerb Cr
Keep awake, take a safety break
Keep left for Cheesequake
Next service area, 13 miles.
Southbound slowdown, stoking the stress
Headache and heartbreak, hammering my chest
Agonizing and theorizing, through the stop and go
Illuminated by the dashboard’s phosphorescent glow
Disabled vehicles parked on grass, awaiting patrol
And I scramble through my pockets for change
to pay the toll
One finger on the wheel, narrowly averting a crash
But it’s no use, this driver carries no cash
And there’s no diamond on my windshield
I get no TLC from the T&LC
And when I try to merge, no one yields
Once I get shooed from my spot by the PAPD
Maneuver and jockey, a round of toll plaza hockey
Among all the tunnel trucks down on their luck
Overpaying my dues
With these limousine blues
Just another turnkey turkey hustling for a buck.
And I keep watching the signs …
Holland Tun, Lincoln Tun, Geo Wash Br
Coney Is Ave, Cr Bx Expwy, FDR Dr
Express and local lanes, heavy merge ahead
Next crossover to express lanes, 22 miles
Reduce speed ahead, stop here on red
It’s thru traffic, churnpike ends 130 miles.
©2023 The Hesh Inc.
Another one from my limo driving days. It's all true. I was going to make a whole album about that miserable time in my life, my "season in hell" really, mostly because songs that are born of agitation or pain are much more heartfelt and relatable than happy-go-lucky songs. But when I reread these lyrics I can feel that hammering in my chest that's mentioned in the third verse and I realize that living in the muck and mire of the past does not allow me to move into the future or even the present. All told, though, I love the wordplay, and perhaps this song will find its way onto an album I'm contemplating about the displacement I felt for much of my adult life.