Texarkana en route to New Orleans –
My baby fell from his bike.
And I was told he lay conscious;
And he knew death would arrive.

Ride, ride, ride, ride…

From weeping trees blue bottles hang –
And southern grass come covered with mist.
Could he not stay on the road we paved?
The dirt devours those who fall adrift.

Ride, ride, ride, ride…

They took his body back to the Golden State;
Where his mother wept a sad goodbye.
And not a dry eye was to be seen –
Unless you looked into my eyes.

Ride, ride, ride, ride…

(vocal sample pitched - no meanings)

"The next thing I want to talk to you about is the Truffle recipe
Chocolate, butter, rhum, truffles"