Johnson County will kill ya

Lord, don’t let me die in a car on Bluemont Avenue;

Johnson County plates in front of me,

SUV to the right of me, Jeep behind,

When Johnson County slams on the brakes to make a left turn;

I have claustrophobia; no use bringing jaws of life.

Lord, don’t let me die at 14th and Fremont,

When I just have the courage to turn left,

And Johnson County soro girls have no choice but to crunch me.

Air bags are useless in my old Nissan;

It’s too sad: you can almost see the campus from there.

No, if i must die in a car, let it be on 17th Street, Linder’s neighborhood.

Lulled by the primordial beat thumping in the frat houses,

As I watch Butters the squirrel hot-footing it across the power lines,

Ever meditative, and I never saw the other guy coming.

Or, let me die in Johnson County.