90 In November

Smoking like a sinner

Buzzing like a bee

90 in November

Keeping up the speed

Pick up trucks are working

To pick up the pace

Lonely times are louder

In the Lone Star State

Technicolored sun

Like when I was a kid

90 in November

Heating up the grid

Fast times of getting way too high

Cardboard cut out cowboy

Waving my goodbye

Still it seems

Like it doesn't mean a thing

Still it seems

Like it doesn't mean a thing

I've been trailing off

Lack of punctuation

Yelling like a dove

And sleeping like a question

Picking up a pen that's running out of ink

Crossing my eyes and dotting all my T's

Still it seems

Like it doesn't mean a thing

Still it seems

Like it doesn't mean a thing

Pressing my luck

With a $2 fill up

Might not get far but I'm fast

Making out with black lungs

And a heart of gold

Going once

Going twice

Now I'm sold

Going once

Going twice

Now I'm sold

Going once

Going twice

Now I'm sold