TheThe summer sun was beating down. No pity would it show.
George Chester's office air-conditioner would no longer go.
As pools of sweat rolled down his brow, he had one reverie.
He saw himself with his wife and kids in their cottage by the sea.

He paid for his car at the parking lot, which gave the poor man chills.
The attendant laughed and walked away, thumbing a roll of bills.
He started his car with trembling hands at the end of a long hard day,
And putting himself in the hands of God, he drove to the long freeway.

The traffic stretched far as the eye could see as bumper to bumper they sped.
They drove at supernatural speeds, which filled his heart with dread.
Sometimes they'd stop for an hour or more and a thousand horns would blow.
George Chester's eyes rolled back in his head, and his poor brain started to go.

He came at last to the turnpike gate and he laid his money down.
He took the first turn to the right and followed the curve around.
He took each bend of the cloverleaf, he followed every sign,
And when he came back to the same toll gate, he gave it another dime.

His hands were clenched on the steering wheel, his lips and throat were dry.
He swore by all that he held dear, he'd make it through or die.
He took the first turn to the right, the cloverleaf to go through.
He was quite sure of his success, then the tollgate hove in view.

And now they say when the moon is full, and the cloverleaf is still,
The sound of an engine can be heard laboring up the hill.
A dime drops into the toll machine in the cool of the summer night,
And eternally that poor car takes the first turn to the right.