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(Bill Fries, Chip Davis) |
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We is screamin' through the valley |
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Where the Nishnabotna flows |
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Through the mud and crud and cornfields |
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Where the mari-ju-wana grows |
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'Cross the railroad tracks of Persia |
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Down the hills and up the dale |
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Had a CJ-5 with a four-wheel drive |
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And Smokey on my tail. |
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Well, he picked me up at exit 12 |
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On the I-six-eighty ramp |
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I was doin' 67 per |
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When I rumbled through his trap |
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He commenced to whirl his flashin' lights |
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And he made his siren wail |
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I slipped on down to four-wheel drive |
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With Smokey on my tail |
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Now I got racin' stripes and dual pipes |
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And Smokey's got a Ford |
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Got a mill with a four pot carb, you know |
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But Smokey's stroked and bored |
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Well, the chase was on, but I had the edge |
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With a rig that'll never fail |
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Got a CJ-5 with a four-wheel drive |
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And Smokey on my tail |
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Yeah, he was. |
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Well, I dropped on down to granny low |
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And I made a hard right turn |
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My big ol' fat Commando tires |
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Went slashin' through the corn |
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Well, the tassels blew |
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And the kernels flew |
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And it looked like yella hail |
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Just cookin' alive in a four-wheel drive |
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With Smokey on my tail |
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Well, we went screamin' through the valley |
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Where the Nishnabotna flows |
|
Through the mud and crud and cornfields |
|
Where the mari-ju-wana grows |
|
'Cross the railroad tracks of Persia |
|
Up the hills and down the dales |
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My CJ-5 with four-wheel drive |
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And Smokey on my tail. |
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[Imagine a series of comic-style thought balloons.] |
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Look out, now. Here he come. |
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Oh, we gonna get it on now. |
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(Don't hit that fella with the banjo.) |
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We gonna swim this here creek now, Smokey. [Pronounced "crick", of course.] |
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Yard wide and a foot deep. |
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"Nishnabota River", they call it. |
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Might haveta winch out. |
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Gonna do a wheelie on that there gopher mound now, Smokey. |
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Can you dig it, Smokey? |
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Got four on the floor and four in the air on that one, didn't we? |
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Goodness gracious. 'Bout ta bust my shocks. |
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[Back to our regularly-scheduled rhyming. Add the sound of wailing sirens.] |
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Well, that Jeep of mine made Smokey whine |
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His rig was made of lead |
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He was mired in fourteen feet of mud |
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So he radioed ahead |
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I pulled up onto the blacktop |
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Went crashin' on through the rail |
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Sakes alive! I had twenty-five more |
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Smokeys on my tail! |
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Now I had racin' stripes and dual pipes |
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And Smokey had a Ford |
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Had a mill with a four pot carb, you know |
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But Smokey's stroked and bored |
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Well, the race was on, but I had the edge |
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With a rig that'll never fail |
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Got a CJ-5 with a four-wheel drive |
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Settin' out back a' the jail |
