Hot rod mama moving like a motor cycle devil in a race Blown out my mind, I can't keep up the pace I'm selling all my midnight, still broke and living on the ground My gone little mama cut out without a sound With my greased-up levis, baseball boots above my head If it wasn't such a tragedy I might wish I was dead She took my ice-cream mustang and my purple coloured dodeville She even took my panpipes and my elixir of life pill
https://primoaccordo.net/bolan-marc/hot-rod-mama.htm