That 7-11 Song

The volume of your anger’s
Always measured by
How hard you slam the door
You’ll know my lack of sympathy
When I let me engine roar
You’ll watch my pickup peel
You’ll hear my tires squeal
You’ll know my emotions sit behind the wheel
So what if we die drivin to 7−11
With your stone cold words
Driving straight to my soul
If the radio’s tuned into «stairway to heaven»
Will the merciful lord save a place in his home
The means of your silence
Will be measured by
How long you wait to call
Take all the time you want
My dear it won’t jazz me at all
My sobriety’s a myth
Yet I know I’ll take the fifth
When his honor asks me if I really
Polished off that fifth
So what if we die drivin to 7−11
With your stone cold words
Driving straight to my soul
If the radio’s tuned into «stairway to heaven»
Will the merciful lord save a place in his home
The level of your guilt
Will be measured by
Your black dress at the wake
The level of my stupidity
Will clear by my mistake
And you’ll admit to that
I acted like a brat
I’ll go down in the books
As one more needless stat
So what if we die drivin to 7−11
With your stone cold words
Driving straight to my soul
If the radio’s tuned into «stairway to heaven»
Will the merciful lord save a place in his home