Shotgun In A Chevy

Got a '68 Chevy that his cousin bought in '71.

Traded 98 dollars and his daddy's lucky shotgun. Christened
 the back bumper with a half-empty bottle of beer.
In the back of his mind, he could hear all the people 
cheer.

He used to sleep in school, hopin' no one would call his 
name, as the teacher tried to turn 'em out all the same.

Get up every mornin', do the work you're expected to, and 
at night, sit and count the crumbs thrown to you. He 
inherited a job at the local distillery.
Where he had all day to sit and think of what would never 
be.
Somewhere along the line, he'd been deceived.

Get stoned, read the Bible, an' pretend he still believed. 
Rollin' down the road with his foot to the floor.
Passin' the same farms and fields as every time before.
Nothin' haunts a man like knowin' that he's free to choose.

So he lets up off the gas when he thinks of all he's got to
 lose.

Well, you work all day, live just like a slave. Hustlin' 
for a seat on the slow shuttle to the grave.

There's a bottom to every bottle and the only thing that 
ever lasts is riding shotgun in a Chevy and countin' all 
the cars you pass.