new jersey turnpike

gas gauge is meltin, it needs another hit
throat's as dry as where a cat goes to shit.
fall is late, sun burns like satans spike...
its 60 miles more to the new jersey turnpike
i need fuel to keep this hog movin
my mind is fist fucked and the barwood is soothin
first up, first served, is it gas, could it be booze...
the first one i pass is the first one i'll choose
the dash is as hot as pickled dynamite
and the smoke in my mouth is dying for a light
my breath tastes like bile and all i can smell
is the gun in the glove box that's missing four shells