10th Street don't run in a straight line

We played on the part we couldn't find

And a musky old man, had a cup in his hand

He's the unofficial doorman, he helped flag down the cabs



The snow started light, we thinking about home

But thinking was by far the closest we'd get, we're alone

And what I had planned for the next couple days

Nothing more than a wish, still a phone call away



So we headed west, an our felt like four

'Til we had to sleep or just couldn't see anymore

And the man on the corner, was probably home, it was late

And we were stranded on the highway at the Frederick, Super 8

(Lost on the highway, I ain;t never going back...no, no, no)



10 inches, twelve, fifteen, twenty-four

Then the cable went out, we just sang songs then got bored

Tempers were short when the food it got thin

We walked a half a mile to the buffet, at the Holiday Inn





Six hours turned to twelve, and twelve to forty-eight

We watched the gypsy's take shelter when they closed the interstate

We spoke of Civil War, Pulp Fiction, and our escape

Everything was shut down, but for that Frederick, Super 8

(Don't apologize, just give me my fuckin' sandwich)



Lost on the highway on the side of the road

Kicking your feet up to lighten the load

There was a contest of manhood and there was no debate

Oh six lonely, lonely, lonely men…at that Frederick, Super 8

(It rhymes with 'debate'....I ain't never going back)