FRIDAY RUNS ON OCTANE [Verse 1] Work week dead, toss the keys on the bench, Friday hit different when the whole crew links. Good marijuana rolled up fat and slow, First spark lit before the daylight goes. That old truck growls like it hates its life, Same hood popped open for the hundredth time. One hand on a wrench, one friend talks shit, Music shaking the garage while we’re fixing it. [Pre-Chorus] Then she fires up rough, but that’s good enough, Throw the poles in back and load the firewood up. No clean shoes, no polished plans, Just dirt roads, loud friends, and whatever happens. [Chorus] It’s finally Friday, let the whole night roll, Good marijuana burning while the bonfire glows. Mud flying high when we bury those tires, Bass echoing out past the open-field fires. Fishing with the crew till the daylight fades, Laughing way too loud like we’re never gonna change. Country life we know with a harder kind of sound, And that same damn old truck somehow still gets us around. [Verse 2] Lines in the water since the sun came up, Cooler by the chairs, everybody kicked back. One fish lost and the story gets bigger, One friend swears theirs was twice that figure. By dark we’re moving where the deep ruts hide, Speakers on blast and the windows open wide. Smoke in the cab, fire ahead in the field, That kind of Friday makes the whole week disappear. [Bridge / Rap] We know busted bolts, grease, and bad decisions, Flashlight under hoods and half-assed revisions. Fix that truck, break that truck, fix it once more, Parts on the bench and mud on the floor. We don’t need fancy, we don’t need clean, Give us loud music, good friends, and green. Fishing by day, raising hell by night— That’s the kind of chaos that feels just right. [Final Chorus] It’s finally Friday, let the sparks climb high, Bonfire painting orange across the whole damn sky. Mud on the doors, bass shaking the ground, Good marijuana making another pass around. Fishing, laughing, friends staying late, Living that country life in our own damn way. And when that old truck starts knocking again— Back to the garage with the same wild friends. [Outro] Friday. Fire. Green. Bass. Mud. Lines. Then fix that damn truck again.
