(Originally by The Mountain Goats)

I broke free on a Saturday morning,
I put the pedal to the floor.
Headed north on Mills Avenue,
And listened to the engine roar.

My broken house behind me and good things ahead,
A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time.
Six cylinders underneath the hood crashing and kicking,
Aha! Listen to the engine wine.

I am going to make it through this year if it kills me.

I played video games in a drunken haze,
I was 17 years young,
Hurt my knuckles punching the machines,
The taste of Scotch rich on my tongue.
And then Cathy showed up and we hung out,
Trading swigs from a bottle all bitter and clean,
Locking eyes, holding hands,
Twin high maintenance machines.

I drove home in the California dusk.
I could feel the alcohol inside of me hum.
Pictured the look on my stepfather's face,
Ready for the bad things to come.
I downshifted as I pulled into the driveway,
The motor screaming out stuck in second gear.
The scene ends badly, as you might imagine,
In a cavalcade of anger and fear.

There will be feasting and dancing in Jerusalem next year.