Pack up all your dishes
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
Sons-a-bitches always bore me
And throw out them old L.A. papers
And the moldy box of Vanilla Wafers
Adios to all this concrete
Gonna get me some dirt road back streets

If I can just get off of this L.A. freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'll be down the road in a cloud of smoke
To some land I ain't bought, bought, bought

And it's here's to you old Skinny Dennis
Only one I think I will miss
I can hear your old bassman singing
Sweet and low like a gift your bringing
Play it for me one more time now
Got to give it all we can now
I believe every word you're saying
Just keep on, keep on playing

If I can just get off of this L.A. freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'll be down the road in a cloud of smoke
To some land I ain't bought, bought, bought

And then put the pink card in the mailbox
Leave the key in the old front door lock
They will find it likely as not
I'm sure there's something we have forgot
Oh Susanna, don't you cry babe
Love's a gift that's surely handmade
We got something to believe in
Don't you think it's time we were leavin?

If I can just get off of this L.A. freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I'll be down the road in a cloud of smoke
To some land I ain't bought, bought, bought

If I can just get off this L.A. freeway
Without getting killed or caught

Pack up all your dishes
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
Sons-a-bitches always bored me

Copyright: Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): GUY CLARK