Hot rod coupe on a Friday night
At the fairground strip
One more beer will get me set
For my quarter-mile trip

Steering wheel in hand
Making my last stand
I'm the fastest in the land
That's why they call me the king

I shut em down with breakneck speed
Like no one can
Pink slips seem to disappear
With a wave of my hand

Approach that line
Checkered flag up high
Check the starting light
And it's red, yellow, green and

Go! Don't hesitate, accelerate and Go!
Tires spin as we begin to Go!
Road dust flies into their eyes
As the king blows across the finish line

Tension's high as we burn the road
Like flames from hell
Leavin' rubber smokin' hot
With a brimstone smell

When I reach that line
The cops will have to handcuff me
Cuz greasers racing on the strip
Is a felony

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