When the streets are steaming, the big slicks scream
As they burn down the quarter mile
And those lean brown boys in their sleeveless shirts
Curse the heat when it cramps their style

Only the Chicano in his body shop
Say, 'In cherry red, she looks so fine'
While his brothers burn the chops of the Catholic kids
From West Corina to the county line

Cheerio, my baby say, don't you know me
The rich kid in the Karmann Ghia
Well, I bought these wheels just to make you feel
That I'm a street kid not a racketeer

Should we grab a bite where the greasers eat?
Watch them choppers cruise up the strand
Or should we park where it's dark
And tune the AM into the sounds of the old Wolfman?

When she's spent your candle, she learned your handle
She says, honey, let me see you shift
So your floor it into fifth down to the liquor store
Where a fake, I'd can score a fifth

Sonny Matao say to Susie Elaina
Maybe we could steal your sister's car
And grab ourselves a six pack and head on down
To the drive in at Canoga Park

When the surfers hit Topanga once they quit the waves
And they roll back into Woodland Hills
Where the bleached blond girls in their faded jeans
Bring 'em burgers from the bar-n-grill

When they've stashed their boards and climbed up on
Them wagons just to eat up the night
It's a crackerjack box with no surprise
When your lady's sinking Judes and whites

I've had a hell of a week, up on over the hill
And now there's a valley between
But if you won't see me Friday, I might as well
Throw a monkey wrench in my machine

'Cause I saddle, soaped the buckets, shined the chrome
Polished up the panel lights
Until you can check your makeup in the fuel gouge
And I can dazzle you