First stanza of THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE, written by Hank Card, goes

The Gulf breeze was blowing those sweet petrochemical fumes.
I was hauling a truckload of cattle through Texas in June.
The cattle were thirsty and calling for brew.
Abnormally sober, I wanted one, too.
I left I-10 at Beaumont to look for an open saloon.

Recording by The Austin Lounge Lizards.