Figure of Eight

out of the loop (again)

In a figure of eight

Around an old dirt track

Playing and my Daddy is late

I'm fealing love is laxed.

On a bale of hay

In my Daddies driveway

Socks on my hands are my racing gloves

Because driving is what I love

 

A race car driver is what I want to be

I've got three tires made from frisbees

And one from a hoola-hoop

 

I'm racing alone

In a figure of eight

close to my home

seven and a half years old

... Gonna be eight,

Got to beat the clock

Or crash and burn.

My car is my only concern...

'till Daddy comes home

 

Driving in the Brickyard

With Junkyard the cat

She's scratching me up

Because she doesn't like going around in circles like that

But I can never give up

Because I've got S.T.P on my hat

And Indy 500 written in crayon

On the lid of an old tin can

And I'm wishing my mommie and daddy would make up

 

A race car driver is what I want to be

But my Daddy's left me-

...Out of the loop

So I've got theese three tires made from frisbees

And one from a hoola-hoop.