Am G
Am  F  C  G (x2)

[Verse]
             Am                           F
You took the baby to your mother's end of June
    C                                   G
and kissed her for the last time on the bed in your old room
           Am                                  F
Then up to Northfield in the Fairmont just you two
    C                               G
You always drove the getaway so you wouldn't have to shoot
            Am                                   F
and after a couple jobs like clockwork where not one of you had slipped
         C                              G
You were on your way back to Wisconsin, hit a deer and flipped


[Break]*
Am  F  C  G (x2)


[Verse]
               Am                               F
Came to on the pavement, bleeding hard from the crash
           C                             G
Calling to no one; he was as gone as the cash
                  Am                                  F
But there was the Ford flipped under an overpass, the baby seat strapped in the back
    C                                          G
The windshield smashed and red streaked, as an exploded dye pack
           Am                                      F
and so you crawled in and you closed the door, and laid on what was now the floor
    C                                   G
and swore that you would figure out the rest when it was morning