10th Street don't run in a straight line    We played on the part we couldn't find    And a musky old man, had a cup in his hand    He's the unofficial doorman, he helped flag down the cabs      The snow started light, we thinking about home    But thinking was by far the closest we'd get, we're alone    And what I had planned for the next couple days    Nothing more than a wish, still a phone call away      So we headed west, an our felt like four    'Til we had to sleep or just couldn't see anymore    And the man on the corner, was probably home, it was late    And we were stranded on the highway at the Frederick, Super 8   (Lost on the highway, I ain;t never going back...no, no, no)      10 inches, twelve, fifteen, twenty-four    Then the cable went out, we just sang songs then got bored    Tempers were short when the food it got thin    We walked a half a mile to the buffet, at the Holiday Inn       Six hours turned to twelve, and twelve to forty-eight    We watched the gypsy's take shelter when they closed the interstate    We spoke of Civil War, Pulp Fiction, and our escape    Everything was shut down, but for that Frederick, Super 8   (Don't apologize, just give me my fuckin' sandwich)      Lost on the highway on the side of the road    Kicking your feet up to lighten the load    There was a contest of manhood and there was no debate    Oh six lonely, lonely, lonely men…at that Frederick, Super 8   (It rhymes with 'debate'....I ain't never going back)