Pontiac - Fred Eaglesmith

It’s a Pontiac

It’s a '63 Stratochief with a three on the tree

And it belongs to me

And my baby

Her and me

We go driving down old highway seventeen

She puts on the radio

Rolls down the window

Lays her head back

It’s a Pontiac

It ain’t got no wild horses painted on the side

And the objects in the mirror are precisely their own size

It’s got a chrome Indian in front of the door

Might be an Apache or an Arapaho

Or a Pontiac

There was an incident last night

At seventeen and third

It all happened so fast nobody’s really sure

But somebody held the rifle, somebody held the sack

And as fast as they were there

Well they were gone just like that

In a Pontiac

The anti-freeze is boiling and the oil pressure’s low

And the pedal’s to the metal and it’s as fast as it can go

And the stain on her shoulder I getting darker you know

And the radio keep blasting out the facts

It’s a Pontiac