Intro
Green sedan, cracked mirror, dice hung from a string
Odometer stuck at a number that don't mean a thing
Verse
Uncle Renny left the keys under the mat by the drain
Told me drive it slow, the brakes got a stutter and a strain
Bench seat torn, stuffing showing through like a scar
Glovebox got a Sharpie list, half the block rode this car
Took my grandmother to dialysis, Tuesday, six a.m.
Air freshener pine tree faded, hanging by a hem
Same wagon took my cousin to the courthouse in March
Same wagon idled outside when the deacon lit the porch
Tint peeling off the back glass like a scab comes undone
Mirror's crooked on purpose so I see everyone
Every ride I've taken, every favor, every debt
Every name in that glovebox I ain't paid off yet
Gas gauge lives on empty, story of my life
Borrowed trust runs longer than the headlights at night
I check that mirror twice before I pull from the curb
Cause what's behind you always catches up, unswerved
Chorus
Rearview don't lie, it testify
Every mile behind me still alive
I drive with the weight in the glass
Rearview testimony, built to last
Verse
Fifteen years old, first time I drove it alone
Took a detour for a favor, dropped a bag, kept it low
Never told my uncle where the wagon really been
Wiped the seat down after, thought that closed the sin
Glovebox got a name I added, wasn't proud to write
Kid from Fenwick Street, ran with me one bad night
He got picked up two blocks later, wagon still warm
Never said my name though, took the weather, took the storm
Owed him something heavier than money ever paid
Started driving elders after, that's the debt I made
Every hospital run, every ride to church on time
Chipping at a stain that ink can't wash off a line
Mirror caught his face once, swore I saw him grin
Told myself the wagon carries more than just the sin
Carries who we were before the corner had a say
Carries who we choose when we get one more day
Chorus
Rearview don't lie, it testify
Every mile behind me still alive
I drive with the weight in the glass
Rearview testimony, built to last
Bridge
Handed Renny's keys to my nephew, twelve years old
Told him check that mirror, told him what it holds
He asked why the glovebox full of names he don't know
I said that's the toll, son, that's how the wagon go
Every hand that held it left a little of the load
So drive it slow, and give back more than what it showed
Outro
Mirror's still crooked, dice still swinging free
Whatever's behind you rides shotgun eventually
