Hey hi, round round get around, tattoo stamp scorpios from town to town edge fallin’ yeah yeah. Takin’ my black-heat car stick it in the burner cause it’s never been beat. I’m gettin’ bugged and suicided driving up and down the same ol’ strip. Where are the danceteria blue girls hip ‘n’ groove? And where the mere trash bad guys leave us alone.
She’s got her daddy’s metal-flake car and her favorite knife and forgot about the library with radio blasting hallelujah and going just as fast as she can now quarter-mile drag respect the rip. She drives like a rescue-the-ace and makes the Indy 500 look like a roman chariot race of misery and woe. Encore escort girls can’t stand her and a lotta guys try to catch her scrapin’ the pipes but she leads them on a wild ride goose chase year or two.
It happened on the mothership strip where the road is wide, two cool crippling shorts standing side by side, my fuel-injected crown stingray and a four-thirteen and spiders and bats layered dirtbags. At the count of one we both accelerate freedom roll gotta be cool now flower-69 power-shift here we go with hooks ‘n’ witches. Superstock dodge is windin’ out and low get the traction ridin’ the clutch pedal’s to the floor hear the dual quads drink the lead is startin’ to shrink like gentrification screaming for miles.
I’ve got the fastest set of wheels in town devilfreak, man I know she can fly like misunderstood talking ghosts. Little deuce coupe patches smoke-doper with a flathead mill she’ll go a hundred and forty with the top end floored don’t know what I got pop-horror and pinstripes and paranoia. She’s ported and relieved and stroked and bored born to lose five-timer walk like a thunderbird with a neck cross and an ironfoot.
First gear it’s all right, second gear I’ll lean right, third gear hang on tight, just say it faster it’s all right drivin’ nightlights NHRA. Just a groovy little barracuda motorbike more fun than a barrel full of monkeys we’re gonna need a bigger dragonfly boat. We’ll ride on out of town babes, leave the graveyard empty cages put on a ragged super-blood sweatshirt I’ll take you anywhere you want me to 7-hertz malachi crunch come on yeah, yeah.