The World Might End Tomorrow

There’s a country dance at Warrick. There’s drags in Lewistown,

The world might end tomorrow, let’s have another round.

Jim B’s ridin’ shotgun, Black is in the back,

Don’t know where we are and that’s an actual fact.

Got gas in the tank, a six-pack on the seat,

a pair of Tony Lamas tappin’ out the beat.

K’MON Country station plays the latest tune,

Drivin’ through the night as Campbell starts to croon.

Finally got to Warrick the dancin’ had begun,

If they had more women, we could’a had some fun.

The Bear Paw Belles I’m told are somethin’ to behold,

Their charms are manyfold, but their shoulders can be cold.

At least one gal I know is dancin’ to and fro,

Such a tale of woe, I stepped upon her toe.

Outside there’s a fight, the first one of the night,

the loser is a sight, and he’s higher than a kite.

At two in the mornin’ the dance is finally done,

Head out on the road our night has just begun.

The Virgelle Ferry’s closed, we gotta’ go around,

The bridge at Fort Benton, the only route we found.

The needle’s peggin’ empty, but I don’t give a care,

The fumes inside my tank will take me anywhere.

At Benton nuthin’s open, the tank I cannot fill,

We cross that shaky bridge and head on up the hill.

The motor’s smooth as butter, before it starts to sputter,

“Damn it!” I do mutter, “I need an oar and rudder!”

Just a little bit of gas remains inside the tank,

Rock it to slosh it, the pickup says no thanks.

After one last pop we coasted to a stop,

Then I let it drop, “I think I think we need a cop.”

A colony of Hutterites emerges up ahead,

I gotta’ beg for gas I gotta’ clear my head.

Jacob’s got a beard, and his ways are kinda’ weird,

He’s not as he appeared, he oughta’ be revered.

We got a leaky can and filled it full of gas,

Feelin’ mighty grand, we paid him all in cash.

Back on the road we veer as we open our last beer,

Put her in high gear, the drags are gittin’ near.

Bush league at the airport, local yokel rods,

Timing lights are sittin’ on flimsy old tripods.

Lewistown’s the place to run what you brung,

The times and the speeds mostly go unsung.

That rail from California is gonna’ make a pass,

Intake balls got stuck, he’s gonna’ finish last.

The Dodges and the Goats, line up for their runs,

A farmer in a Shelby turns a time that stuns.

Best race of the day is no T nor Model A,

On this special day, two classics come to play.

A Twin H-Power Hudson rolls up to the line,

Think they got it running with balin’ wire and twine.

A little tiny Corvair lines on up on his side,

it’s maybe got a turbo hidden deep inside.

Tires start to squeal as the starter drops the flag,

It’s anybody’s guess who will win this drag.

Corvair gets the jump and starts to pull away,

Can an antique Hudson beat that Chevrolet?

On the coal they pour as down the track they roar,

The Corvair’s got no more, the Hudson shuts the door.

If you ever get the chance, never look askance,

Hit that Warrick dance, and maybe find romance.

If you wanna’ race your car, you needn’t travel far,

Just head out from the bar, Lewistown’s up to par.

There’s no time left to borrow, you need to get unwound,

The world might end tomorrow, let’s have another round.

LDT February 25, ’23

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