90 In November

Smoking like a sinner
 Buzzing like a bee
 90 in November
 Keeping up the speed
 Pick up trucks are working
 To pick up the pace
 Lonely times are louder
 In the Lone Star State
 Technicolored sun
 Like when I was a kid
 90 in November
 Heating up the grid
 Fast times of getting way too high
 Cardboard cut out cowboy
 Waving my goodbye
 Still it seems
 Like it doesn't mean a thing
 Still it seems
 Like it doesn't mean a thing
 I've been trailing off
 Lack of punctuation
 Yelling like a dove
 And sleeping like a question
 Picking up a pen that's running out of ink
 Crossing my eyes and dotting all my T's
 Still it seems
 Like it doesn't mean a thing
 Still it seems
 Like it doesn't mean a thing
 Pressing my luck
 With a $2 fill up
 Might not get far but I'm fast
 Making out with black lungs
 And a heart of gold
 Going once
 Going twice
 Now I'm sold
 Going once
 Going twice
 Now I'm sold
 Going once
 Going twice
 Now I'm sold