She’s a pretty little girl in a sports car. Drivin’ around in the party side of town. She’s a pretty little girl in a sports car. She don’t know what’s there to be found. Lookin’ at me through the side of her eye. She don’t know what she’s lookin’ for or why. She don’t know what she will get. She’s wonderin’ if I know somethin’ she doesn’t yet.

(Chorus)> Sometimes I feel like a rock, like a rock. Sometimes I feel like a feather, blowin’ off a clock. Sometimes I feel like a rock, like a rock. Sometimes I feel like a feather, blowin’ off a clock.

He’s an old man drivin’ in a pickup truck. Drivin’ around, knows how to make his bucks. He’s an old man drivin’ in a pickup truck. His wrinkles show he’s seen life’s great muck. Lookin’ at me through the side of his eye, thinkin’ I’m not happy, but he’s not sure why. He’s glad he’s comfortable and thinks I’m not. Knows in corporate threads you gotta fit in a slot.

(Chorus) Some days I don’t even question myself, put all my doubts right up on the shelf, tryin’ to obtain that balanced wealth, when mostly what I need is my friends and my health. Well, she’s a pretty little girl in a sports car. Lookin’ at me through the side of her eye. She’s a pretty little girl in a sports car, and she don’t even know why. . . .

 

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