Green Rocket

Eastbound at 85 mph we passed the Tribal Authority Bronco headed westbound. Miller and I were in the back. We saw the Tribal cop flip a bitch and hit the rollers. The girls in the front weren't listening, but fuck, we had a serious head start and Babb was only five miles out. We could still make it. We had to make it. There were two bands waiting for us. It was the fourth of July. It was our duty to bring Rock and Roll to the friendly natives of Babb. We would rock them. It was our duty as guilty white suburban punk ass kids. Our progenetors had stolen their land, commited genocide through murder and sickness, and appeased them with our own vices. We would rock the fair people of Babb on this fourth of july night. So there we were strapped into that green 1973 two door catalina, strapped in like slim pickens to the A-Bomb. Except it was 1990. We were riding a squealing tired, green skinned, scudbuster, patriot missle of freedom. We were going to make it.