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455 Rocket by Kathy Mattea.
(The kind the po-lice drive)
Mr Smith had an Oldsmobile,
Baby-blue with wire wheels.
I took her home the day she was advertised.
He said she leaked when it would rain.
Sounded like an aeroplane,
But I knew she was a jewel in disguise.
She had a 455 Rocket,
The biggest block alive.
I couldn't hardly wait just to take my turn.
She was made for the straight-a-ways,
She grew up hatin' Chevrolets.
She's a Rocket,
She was made to burn.
Well, whose junk pile piece of Chevelle is this?
Did you boys come here to race or just kiss?
Hmmm, now don't you wanna know,
What I got underneath my hood?
I know, she might sound like she's missing,
Buddy, she can teach you a lesson,
In just a quarter mile
I'll smoke you good.
In my 455 Rocket.
The kind the police drive.
I couldn't hardly wait just to take my turn.
She was made for the straight-a-ways.
She grew up hating Chevrolets,
She's a Rocket.
She was made to burn.
I'm tellin' you and I ain't ashamed,
I cried when that wrecker came.
As we skid, I thought I heard the angels sing.
Sounded like the Beach Boys.
We hit the curb then began to sail.
Took out most of the safety rail.
Even the cop asked me,
"Man, what'd you have in that thing?"
I had a 455 Rocket,
The very kind you drive.
You wanna' watch yourself when you take that turn.
She was made for the straight-a-ways,
She grew up hatin' Chevrolets.
She's a Rocket.
She was made to burn, burn.
'Cos, she's a Rocket.
She was made to burn.