Pull Over (not the sweatshirt kind)

Jess and I were driving to Memphis today . . .
oh, those blazoning blue lights,
lighting like pinpricks in my consciousness;
yes, the boys in blue -- well, one for now.

Quick, check the speed limit . . . right on . . . safe.
Is there a problem, sir?
Seems to me u were cuting that wite line: you on drugs boy?
No sir, I was trying to let you pass (tailgated by an unmarked popo)
Lemme c ur driver's licence and insurance.
Just a minute. . . it's in here. . .
that one's outdated. . .
oh, here it is, thanks honey
strut, strut, strut
. . .
looks like he's called for backup
. . .
boy, you supost to where shews win u drive
yessir, they're right here.
You got a restriction on your license
. . .?
Supost to be whereing somethang.
Yessir, I wear contacts.
Why u nervous boy?
I get nervous when I get pulled over. (we have a title!)
Get outta the car.

You doin drugggs?
Nosir.
Empty ur pokets.
Whose that with you?
My girlfriend.
Mind if we search the trunk?
Go ahead.
Wear u goin boy?
An art gallery in Memphis.
Aiight, u can go.


Where does right start,
Where does it end?
If I think I'm right,
and you think you're,
then can I condemn you
without first fairly condeming myself?

(Thanks to William Faulkner and William Carlos Williams for some poetic inspiration...)