It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It feels good
Born a bastard child,
Nobody knows whose son,
On the old Chisholm Trail,
And he continues to run.
She's a '32 Ford,
Chopped five window Coup,
Chevrolet mill really,
Really stirs the soup.
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It feels good
When everyone said early on,
They had lost the fight,
Deep down inside they knew,
Knew they had the might.
Like Harold Dawson, Mouser King,
Too many more to say,
Wide whitewall wheels gonna,
Gonna blow you away!
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It feels good
Feels good! Go!
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It feels good
When we fire that motor,
It goes rat-at-at-at-at
Like a Texas guitar slinger,
Or a snare drum that is fat
It is gray and it's red,
In memory of the dead,
Her builder Treadmill Vern is,
Sick in the head!
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
Turn up the bass,
Turn up the treble,
Texas rockabilly rebel.
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It goes real fast, but it sure feels good
It feels good