'50 Chevy

After I gave Heidi away, I came back to a new home and a new high school.
While I was gone, Olman and Ruth bought into the geographical cure and moved down cape to Falmouth.
I wrapped up the last 3 months of my senior year like a refugee.
I felt like Aly Sheedy with the dandruff in 'The Breakfast Club'.
I didn't go to the prom.

I drove a 50 Chevy named Black Beauty.
I rip out her back seat and make a quilt and feather bed.
I paint bold colors on her fuzzy grey wall.
Alters with incense and daisys.
I camp at the Newport Jazz Festival.

The thing I loved most about Black Beauty was her malfunctioning clutch.
Every time we stopped at a red light, I had to pop the hood and fix the clutch. I wore an oil rag in the back pocket of my jeans.
In the late 60's, I looked like a girl who knew what she was doing.
And those college boys would check out my ass.
I picked one up who was hitching a ride to Yarmouth.
I always felt nervous around rich academic types.
I saw the red light coming and I was geeked about showin' off the popped clutch Chinese fire drill.
Jim Morrison wanted everyone to light his fire.
I bent down to turn it up and crashed into the car in front of me.
College boy hopped out, said 'thanks for the ride' while I wiped the blood from my head.
Olman brought out the Poloroid, ranting about money for my college education, snapping flashbulbs on my black eyes and stitched head.
He got some kinda money out of it and gave me the green light to go to art school.

After my third semester, they asked me when I will pay the bill.