I drive a truck, it carries money,
And everyday, I dream up my fantasies,
Yesterday I bought my beach house, a little place just off the coast of France,
Everyday I think of money,
Everyday I think of running,
I love my truck, I love my family,
Stacked in the back, the good life surrounds me,
Could tie my right hand man, and put him some place,
Then I'd ditch the truck and I'd buy a new face,
Everyday I think of money,
Everyday I think of some way,
Can't buy you a love, Can't give you a soul,
Can pick you up, can down you low,
Can drag you out of the hole, that you dug yourself, out of, again,
Again, again, again
Sat in a truck, it carries convicts,
My hands are bound, to the seat by hand-cuffs,
Tomorrow I'll maybe walk around the yard,
Or paint in my cell, and hate imprisonment,
Everyday I think of money,
Everyday I miss my family
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