Packard

She was a fine chick, she was a great car
She was a pleasure Packard, she was a gem
A car that always worked at night
Always flying the flag low.

But one day the drug took her over
And instead of loading gas, she threw morphine
And closing the exhaust because of the noise
She fought with bute on every corner.

Yesterday I saw her pass by, she was doped
And I felt, drunk, like a saint
Seeing that from her drugged look
A look that used to be from a stop car
Only remains like the rest of a crash
With the four little irons of the chassis.