We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere

“We’re on the way to nowhere”
That’s what I was saying when I was driving down Highway 420 one Thursday afternoon in my ‘73 psychedelic-painted Volkswagen Microbus.
The back was filled with musical instruments.
There was a Fender Stratocaster signed by Hendrix, a Gibson Les Paul complete with a whammy bar and everything, there were keyboards and amps, basses and drums, everything that one would need for a band!
Except I didn’t have a band.

That’s why I was going down Highway 420 that afternoon in my psychedelic Volkswagen Microbus: to recruit members for my band.
My dad was asleep in the seat beside me, so I wildly shook him up and yelled, “Wake up, Dad!”

He opened his eyes, looked around, and said, “Cow.”
Well, that was weird. I didn’t know why the first thing my dad said when he woke up was, “Cow.”
So I looked back at the road, and standing right there, in the middle of the road, was the biggest, meanest-looking bull I have ever seen.

Well, I didn’t want to get into that bull’s way, so I slowed down and drove around it.
“That’s a close one,” I remember thinking.
But that was before I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the bull was running towards the bus at maximum speed.
I soon realized that it was charging me, so, not remembering that the bus is about as twice as big as the bull…
I slammed my foot down on the gas, and the bull kept charging, it just wouldn’t stop!
Unfortunately…
I wound up driving off the road and crashing into a telephone pole.

I tried driving away and getting back on the road, but it was then that I realized that I had a flat tire.
As if on cue, a police officer drove up, and I went up to him and I said, “Just the person I was looking for! Officer, my tire’s flat.”
And he interrupted me and he said, “Shut up.”

So I said, “What seems to be the problem, Officer?”
And he said, “Son, I saw ya speedin’ down th’ road at 78 miles per hour.”
And I said, “Well, you see, Officer, that bull was chasing me.” And he said, “What bull?”
So I pointed back at the road, but the bull was not there.
So I said, “Hey, my dad can confirm there was a bull! Dad!”
And I looked back at him, but he had fallen asleep again, so I shook him around to wake him up, and he looked around and he said:
“Wow, I just had the craziest dream.”

So the cops came around with a tow truck, and they took away my 1973 psychedelic Volkswagen Microbus with instruments in the back, and the head cop said, “I’ll see you in court tomorrow, son.”
My dad and I walked for miles and miles in the general direction that the cops had driven away, until we came to a hotel.
We made a reservation for the room, and we slept all the night, until 10 AM, when I had to leave to go to the trial.

I wore a suit that I had worn five years earlier at my godfather’s funeral, minus the sportsjacket because I had left it at home, and the shirt sleeves had been ripped off two weeks ago by our dog back at home, and I didn’t have my tie, so I had to wear one of my dad’s.
When I walked into the courtroom wearing a five-year-old suit with ripped sleeves, a mismatching tie, and unruly hair, you can guess what the courtroom’s reaction was.
I went in and a creepy dude with rainbow-colored hair and a bright blue suit—I later discovered he was the bailiff—told me to put my hand on a strange book he had in his hand.
I did so, and he told me to raise my right hand, and I did that too. Then he asked me if I swore to tell the truth, so I said yes.
The judge, who looked like a combination of Merlin and Larry Fine, told me to take the stand, so I sat down, and the prosecutor said, “Son, what is your name?”
So I told him, and he said, “Son, what are you on?”
And I said, “I’m on the stand, sir.”
The last thing I remember was him telling me not to joke around, then he called me a word I can’t repeat on the radio, and I must have fallen asleep or something, but the judge had made his final verdict: I was found innocent.

Other witnesses must have testified seeing that bull as well; however, the head cop also told me that if I got in trouble with the law again, the punishment would be way more severe.
So I got in my psychedelic Volkswagen Microbus, with brand new tires, and with my dad at my side, we continued down Highway 420 to get new bandmembers, and we were…

On the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
Nowhere

Night was falling as we continued along.
We had driven all day since the trial.
I was still even wearing my clothes from the trial.
And we were thirsty as heck.

As if on cue, we came to a bar.
My dad was fast asleep, so I parked the bus and went in, hoping to find musicians.
It was just my luck that as soon as I walked in, I saw her.

She was mid-20s, perfect body, and her hair was deep red.
She wore a purple tank top and white shorts.
She was next to the bar on the stage, playing the drums.
As she performed her solo, it was like she was a female version of Keith Moon.

It was then that I knew I had found my true love, and I knew she would be perfect for my band.
So after the song was done and she went to the bar to get a beer, I approached her and asked her, “Hey, beautiful. You were really good on the drums. Why don’t you come up to my place and play with me? I’ll pay you.”

It turned out she was an undercover vice cop, so I was arrested for solicitation.
I, of course, only meant that I’d pay her to play the drums and join my band, but I couldn’t explain it to her.
As she drove away in her cop car with me in the back, I felt that if God existed, then right now he’d be eating popcorn… with butter!

When we arrived at the police station, I was shoved in the cell, and who should be guarding me but the same small-town cop I met earlier.
He said, “Well, well, son, I thought I said to never get in trouble with th’ law again.”
Luckily, he was too busy eating his donuts to notice that I had grabbed his keys, which he had foolishly set on the desk next to me.
When I was in the cell, I contemplated how to escape unnoticed. I had to set up some kind of distraction.
Luckily, when I looked out the window, I saw the bull.
It was staring at me inside my cell, all cornered up.
Bingo.
I looked at it directly in the eyes and gave it the universal hand signal for “Bite me.”

Well, the bull started charging, and it knocked down the door and broke in, and the cops were all, “AAH! AAH! AAH!”
And bull was running everywhere, mooing and huffing and causing all sorts of chaos and panic!
Meanwhile, I unlocked the door and slipped away, and my dad just happened to be outside, so I jumped into my getaway car—or my getaway Microbus, take it as you will—and we drove off, never to return again!

I guess there’s a moral to this story, and that is that if you ever encounter a bull in the middle of the road, pull over and let the bull pass. Don’t try to pass it.
Also, if you drive down Highway 420 to look for some musicians, you won’t find any, because whether you know it or not, driving down Highway 420 will have you writing a song like this and singing it.
And you know what you’ll be singing?
I’ll tell you what you’ll be singing!
You’ll be singin’…

We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere

We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere

One more time!
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere
We’re on the way to nowhere