Will "the Thrill"

Underneath what's beating slimy green

Saint Laurent built in the '70s

No intelligent thing left to say

Oh, washed up it bid them wash away

Motorcycle, nineteen fifty-three

Yellow mounting carpet Indian chief

Rusted in the old bent dumpy shed

Pushed the wheelbarrow over the tire tread

And I was like, "Oh my god, is this actually happening to me?"

Off of the side of the road you looked over cautiously

Rolled down the window, said you look like a girl I used to know

Why don't we leave this town together wherever the wind blows?

Through the dirt fields in Colombia

Had to hitchhike back to Montezuma

Ended up in some place far away

Cowboy boots, two dollar switchblade

Seven seventy M-W

Series deep that goes a hundred soon

Sittin' on the leather worn and torn

Muddy boot prints cover up the floor

Look at the posters that are on the wall

Michael Jordan standing six feet tall

It's in your closet or behind your bed

No Philly Phil or Cincinnati Red

Like Will, "The Thrill"