Stopping on the Road on a Tolerant Evening

Whose roads these are I think I know.
These public works they kind of blow;
Police can see me driving here.
But drive these roads with headlights? No.

My little car must think it queer
To drive without the lights on here
Between the hills a concrete snake
The darkest evening of the year.

A cop's lights make me hit the brake
He asks if there's been some mistake.
"The Oakland exit's some ways back,
"Are you some kind of drunken flake?"

The roads are public, each bump and crack,
But each cock-eyed dream must have its hack,
I've not been stopped because I'm black
I've not been stopped because I'm black