Some crazy thug is rushing at your Ford

Bolting lane before you're hit
Blinker's weak and looks unlit
This crazy bloke is veering at your Ford

Reddish lights from close behind
An awful warning screams and whines
The crazy lug is clad in uniform

Pulled over

It makes you start to rue
You're stoned on many brews
Could blow dot-twelve-two-two
And he'll say to you
You're somewhat stewed
You're loo-oo-ooped, you're screwed
Pulled over, not sober, it's over

Hauled in chains to spend some time
Stark and bleak, a shameful crime
You won't be eating steak or petit fours

Petty thugs deplored by all
Bellow at you to fall and crawl
And you'll see bonely sketches on your wall

With topers, with dopers, with ogres

Now sober