Jostling, leaning, bouncing noisily on our way...
Sounds of youth streaming throughout the metal cylinder.
We make our way over sun covered breezy hills of dried cornstalks,
nearly amber as hey rattle from the passing breeze of our
clatter-trap, diesel fumed behemoth.
Arms over seat backs...
Squeaky voices, shrill throaty tones
sing the latest and greatest.
Are we there yet?
Just you look out now, for here comes the band!