Hot Rod

HOT ROD

To Henry Gregor Felsen

Thunder sounding in the wind,

Sirens ringing in his brain,

He had to beat the police

And he had to beat the train.

He had made a little bet

What time he’d get to Trenton

And it certainly did look like

Fate had covered his bettin’.

But they told him not to go.

Ev’rybody told him stay home.

Yet he had to make the run,

He was just compelled to zoom.

So, he had to beat the time

And he had to win the race

For he had called his own shot,

Now he had to save his face.

His friends had tried his tricks.

They sped through Iowa nights,

Until they met the driver

Who had turned off his headlights.

With a sheet over their faces,

They lay in a silent row.

His friends ripped in quick death

On a road in Iowa.

            Hot Rod, Hot Rod,

            I’m going to slow it down.

            Hot Rod, Hot Rod,

            Lay them on a blood soaked ground.