|
Well, i had the carburetor, baby, cleaned and checked |
|
With her line blown out she's hummin' like a turbojet |
|
Propped her up in the backyard on concrete blocks |
|
For a new clutch plate and a new set of shocks |
|
Took her down to the carwash, check the plugs and point |
|
Well, i'm goin' out tonight. i'm gonna rock that joint |
|
Early north jersey industrial skyline |
|
I'm a all-set cobra jet creepin' through the nighttime |
|
Gotta find a gas station, gotta find a pay phone |
|
This turnpike sure is spooky at night when you're all alone |
|
Gotta hit the gas, baby. i'm running late |
|
This new jersey in the mornin' like a lunar landscape |
|
Now, the boss don't dig me, so he put me on the night shift |
|
It's an all-night run to get back to where my baby lives |
|
In the wee, wee hours your mind gets hazy |
|
Radio relays towers, won't you lead me to my baby? |
|
Underneath the overpass, trooper hits his party light switch |
|
Good night, good luck. one, two power shift |
|
I met wanda when she was employed |
|
Behind the counter at Route 60 Bob's Big Boy |
|
Fried chicken on the front seat, she's sittin' in my lap |
|
We're wipin' our fingers on a texaco road map |
|
I remember wanda up on scrap metal hill |
|
With them big brown eyes that make your heart stand still |
|
Well, at five a.m., oil pressure's sinkin' fast |
|
I make a pit stop, wipe the windshield, check the gas |
|
Gotta call my baby on the telephone |
|
Let her know that her daddy's comin' on home |
|
Sit tight, little mama, i'm comin' `round |
|
I got three more hours, but i'm coverin' ground |
|
Your eyes get itchy in the wee, wee hours |
|
Sun's just a red ball risin' over them refinery towers |
|
Radio's jammed up with gospel stations |
|
Lost souls callin' long distance salvation |
|
Hey, mister deejay, won'tcha hear my last prayer? |
|
Hey, ho, rock'n'roll, deliver me from nowhere |
