(Dedicated to Johnathan Harris, boy racer to the
end)
The machine of a dream, such a clean machine,
With the pistons a pumpin`, and the hubcaps all
gleam.
When I`m holding your wheel,
All I hear is your gear,
When my hand`s on your grease gun,
Oh it`s like a disease son,
I`m in love with my car, gotta feel for my automobile,
Get a grip on my boy racer rollbar,
Such a thrill when your radials squeal.

Told my girl I just had to forget her,
Rather buy me a new cartburettor,
So she made tracks sayin` ths is the end now,
Cars don`t talk back they`re just four wheeled
friends now,

When I`m holding your wheel,
All I hear is your gear,
When I`m cruisin` in overdrive,
Don`t have to listen to no run of the mill talk jive,

I`m in love with my car, gotta feel for my automobile,
I`m in love with my car, string back gloves in
my automolove!