Well her lips are worn and chapped, but it's not from desert heat
The blisters on her soul, echo in her feet
Through bleary sunken eyes, and the fog of yesterday
She prays the dicks in Metro, look the other way
She's a Boulder Highway Hooker, stumbling towards one last trick
Don't expect satisfaction or the safety of your prick
She's seen the long and short of all this broken desert road
But there's inner strength enough, to take a heavy load
Strolling Pepe's Tacos past the grave of Castaways
Just enough for menthols at St. Louis Circle K
Gambling $20 to get out of the sun
Far too many years, since this was any fun
Waterfalls of Sam's Town can ease a worried mind
But there's no visions of London, guess The Killers must have lied
A regular at Sportsman's hiding out from the wife
He pays a little extra to get gentle with a knife
Working south of Sunset puts a chill in her veins
The Skyline offers comfort, and Joker's Wild's insane
Waiting on late afternoon cartel delivery
She always earns a discount, and sometimes even free
Hendo welcomes all who ply the highway trade
Barter off your plasma so tomorrow's got it made
Stopping for a stiff one at a Club so Fortunate
Laughing they're not all so stiff, she lights a cigarette
If you've enjoyed this tale, tip well and take the ride
Help her to escape geographic suicide