A quiet drive.

Your obsessive trait. Is what sometimes makes you great A mirror your weapon Your driving not great Ops, another mistake There goes that person’s gate

People crossing is a chore BEEP BEEP and I’m yours Bouncing off my car There goes another child I must admit I’m wild

Now my mirror is filled with blue I really am through Behind bars On a water fast

Clearly not my fault Being brought to court The judge is a sort Reading how I plead Me getting on my knees Begging to be free

I’m off again now, people my new surround-sound Bars of the door, showing teeth marks galore I wish I wasn’t poor So I could have paid the bail, Instead, I'm asking for the pail