It's the Bob and Tom show.

Well, I'm bad right to the bone.

I'll be 17 in a month or so.

I live fast.

Just like a rocket rocket new driver's permit

in my back pocket

rev my engine

at the light

smoke and squeal as my tires

ignite

and the whole world knows exactly

what that says about me

I don't buy my own tires.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I don't buy my own tires.

These white walls roll and I'm a grocery guest. I did not buy them. I'm my own credit. No Michelin man ever saw a dollar of my cash money where the road makes a rubber. I've been riding in the G-ride, hoop de jack. Never mind the baby seat in the back. I'm a rebel on the run. I'm a man with a mission. I can stay up past 11 if I get permission. Slide the stop sign and ride your tail.

Pass on the shoulder throwing gravel like hail.

The bass is pumping and the whole world knows all about me.

I don't pay for insurance either.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I don't buy my own.

Michelin Dunlop, Unile, and Hoosier, Continental Sears,

Arizona and Cooper, good rich, good year, bridge,

...