Last Pack of Holy Smokes lyrics

Last pack of holy smokes

I was down in Lakeland, Florida for a few days.

An army of women were in the street 

outside my hotel waving banners,

capital letters, capital letters, capital letters:

"WOMEN FOR TRUMP"

right after Trump had just professed 

to grabbing strangers' pussies.

(Seriously? Seriously? What the fuck?)

So there I was walkin' around Lakeland's 

historic district holding my pussy (ouch)

in the cannibal sun 

and feeling betrayed by these women

and furious about Trump

while noticing the streets were full 

of insane cars. Insane cars and these guys

in their flip-flops and Florida gear 

slurping Pepsis, dressed like toddlers,

loafing around, polishing hoods and mirrors 

and cranking down windows

while the wives and the girlfriends 

with underbites like bulldogs 

swung their banners, slurred their slogans,

burped their sodas,

kept following me around 'cause I was walkin' 

right through the cars row still holding my pussy,

(What the fuck? Seriously?)  

thinking to myself, probably out loud,

(What the fuck?)

I had better photograph these cars since I'm here,

somehow save these cars' souls if I can.

The last of chrome innocence,

the last pack of Holy Spirits in the glove box.

Take 'em and run and go lock yourself in your room

(Go, quick, go, seriously!)

and let go of your junk.

Triple-bolt your door, close the curtains, light one up,

see into the future.

If Trump is elected, all these folks who support him

will probably get screwed six ways from Sunday,

crying, "Holy smokes!" 

(Holy smokes! Holy smokes!)

when all these pretty cars have to go to auction.