You have pee in your bladder.
You’re stuck in the car.
You hope there’s a bathroom.
You hope it’s not far.
So with pee in your bladder and awkward-crossed thighs
You stop at McDonald’s and guilt-buy some fries.
The bathroom is customers only, you see
‘Cause God forbid women do something for free.
You’re back on the road for not half an hour more
When your bladder sends signals you cannot ignore.
And because your cloth car seat you don’t want to douse
You wonder if someone nice lives in that house.
“It might be a murderous, creepy ex-con,”
You think to yourself and decide to drive on.
“Fuck this small bladder, its two-teaspoon yield!
Am I gonna have to squat down in a field?”
You wish once again you could pee in a cup
Or had one of those things where girls pee standing up.
You wonder if this is where all your pride ends.
You wonder if you should start wearing Depends.
But what’s that ahead? A remote port-a-pot?
Do you care who it’s for? No you fucking do not!
No, you screech to a halt and though part of you dies
You just hold your damn breath and you ward off the flies
And you open the door and you don’t look below
And you think to yourself Oh the Places You’ll Go.
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