We drove our trucks off the street and through the wide, grassy
medians after it had been raining all day, ‘cause
the sun was down, the rain was gone, and our engines were on.
Some people like their cars to purr but
I like mine to roar.
Slamming on the gas then braking hard, I spun us in circles,
tearing up the grass and sending mud flying, while my buddies
pumped their fists and hung out the sunroof.
I was dubbed the Donut King.
Up the street, Zach saw a hot chick, brunette,
sauntering down the sidewalk in a little red dress—
heels clicking, hips swaying.
I drove real slow so that I cruised along next to her,
then I rolled down the window and let her know that
she was blessed
in all the right places.
She couldn’t take the compliment, the tight-ass bitch.
So my buddies and I sped past her, circling back
to where we were creeping up behind Little Red.
Man, the look on her face, the way she
whipped out her phone, walked faster, and glanced over her shoulder—
it was golden.
We’d leave the mud caked on our trucks for days, weeks on end
‘cause we could see out the windshield just fine.
The rain comes back and washes it all away anyhow—
and then we get to do it all over again.