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
