It’s warm for November nIt looks like rainnShe drives the interstatenStays in the slow lanenShe’s got two babies in the backnGot huggies in the frontnThere’s no space to sitn‘Cause it’s full of baby junknnShe grew up in DallasnHad a baby real youngnThen what’s-his-name left when she had another onenShe says “I got these babiesnThey got all these namesnI hurt inside”nAnd then it starts to rainnnIt’s a Thursday morningnShe feels all alonengot a hole insidenIt’s like a country songnBut it feels a lot sadder than what the radio playsnSo she pulls off in Waco for some cokes and friesnShe idles in the drive when the babies start to crynShe starts to cry when she hears “Daddy gone”nGirl in the window says, “Man there’s something wrong”nnIt’s a Thursday morningnShe feels all alonenGot a hole insidenIt’s like a country songnBut feels lot sadder than what the radio playsnnThere’s a parking lot in WaconShe sees things clearnGot a backseat full of babiesnGot a frosty full of tearsnThen the babies quit cryingnThe rain lets upnShe’s up to on-rampnBehind a long haul trucknnIt’s warm for NovembernIt looks like rainnShe drives the interstate nStays in the slow lanenIt’s warm for NovembernLooks like rainnShe drivesnnMonday’s child is fair of faithnTuesday’s child she’s full of gracenWednesday’s child she’s full of woenAnd Thursday’s child’s got four to gon