pulled up in her mom’s green minivan, I wanted to hold her pearl skin hand, she wanted to see the mountains of the West, so we drove across this beautiful land. we left my house at a quarter to five, trying to make it to the Mason-Dixon line, we listened to John Hartford and Bill Monroe, Atlanta’s up next, lets never go home. we made it to Denver, we made it to Seattle, got lost in South Dakota on our way to Oklahoma, went right through Carolina heading towards Minnesota, got stopped in Arizona, and we danced in Missoula. we looped around the country, ate nothing but vegetables, saw jackalopes, the bayou, and the white sands of New Mexico, met a man who played the guitjo and we danced to some Old Crow, drank some beers in Colorado, got stoned in Ohio. and I wanted to tell you in Lincoln, Nebraska, the Grand Canyon ain’t got shit on you, they should have named that state after you. we made it to Denver, we made it to Seattle, got lost in South Dakota on our way to Oklahoma, went right through Carolina heading towards Minnesota, got stopped in Arizona, and we danced in Missoula. as we upshifted to five, we had the east coast in mind, broke through the barriers, crossed into Illinois, taking pictures of Pittsburgh from the rivers, mountains on the rise in those Pennsylvania skies.