I was taking a ride out to Burger King,
Listenin' to that turbo Buick 3.8 sing,
Swiggin' on a Coke and jammin' to some Skynyrd.
Just as I pulled into the parking lot,
I saw a ricer with some chick that was hot,
Revvin' their motor and flippin' me the bird.
They took off goin' the other way,
But there was too much traffic out there to play,
But that didn't stop riceboy from drivin' like a fool.
I could here the ricer buzz as I went around back,
To the drive-up speaker where I ordered me a snack.
I pulled around and the teen asked if I thought imports were cool.
I told him, "No I don't think so,
They look fast but they just don't go,
So I'll stick with American cars, thank you very much."
He got red as a beet and mad as a hornet,
And asked me if I'd like t'bet,
If my sled could beat his turboed V-TEC "such-and-such".
I played along and said "It's just a V6,
it's a big ol' slug, but it's got few tricks,
And it'll beat your hamster-powered Honda", I said with a grin.
He said I was dreamin' and his car was "phat",
And I didn't bother to tell the durn fool that
I sure as Hell didn't want to waste any gas on him.
He pointed to his car and said he'd be done in a few,
And that he beats Camaros and Mustangs, too:
A "Type R" Civic with stickers, wing, fart pipe and tach on the dash.
Well I looked it over and I damn near died,
I was laughing so hard that I almost cried.
So I just got my chow and said, "See ya later, Flash!"
Just when I thought I'd get a chance to eat,
These four ricers come rollin' in from the street,
With the one I saw earlier and some old dork in a green Focus.
I almost took a bite when the silliest-looking one
Said, "Hey BOY! Drop that burger and let's run!"
His passenger whispered: "That's no Monte - he'll smoke us!"
Now the last thing I wanted was to get into a race
With a bunch of slow-ass ricers just to save some face
'Specially when there were four of them and only one of me.
But they all started mockin' and playin' their games,
They called me a "puss" and an assortment of names.
So I power-braked it to give 'em something to see.
The tires let out a screech that curled their hair,
But before they knew it smoke had filled the air.
I said, "Watch it, punks, 'cause this here's a thoroughly quick vehicle.
You may not know it but this one of those GNs,
It's a turbo-charged six and it always wins.
And if any of you can keep up it'll be a miracle."
Their jaws dropped before I left off the gas,
They knew right away that the black car was fast,
But the one with the chick was the dumbest of all:
"My Accord can do that - it's a turbo-six, too,
with more horsepower-per-liter." (If only he knew.)
And his chick said to him, "But that's a GN, y'all!"
He was one of them buzz-headed, goatee wearin' girly-man fags
He even had a rainbow plate for a front bumper tag,
And you couldn't say a word to 'im without 'im gettin' sore.
He was full of politically-correct anti-American BS,
Wearin' baggy jeans and shirt that looked like a dress.
If he were old enough I bet he'd've voted for Algore.
Typical ricer: all symbolism and no substance,
I looked 'im in the eye and asked if he wanted to "dance".
He said, "OK, but no money - we'll race for free."
You could see in his eye the fear of the unknown,
One thing he knew - the Buick was b-b-b-bad to the bone,
And his girl said she wanted to ride along with me.
I let her in and we all headed to the street,
The ricer knew his Accord would badly get beat,
So he went right through the red and risked getting busted.
The kid from the drive-thru revved beside me,
It sounded like he should be out wackin' weeds.
And when the light went green his "Type R" Civic got dusted.
When I mashed the gas the girl let out a scream,
As we shot off the line leaving that ricer team,
She dug her hands into the seat but a smile formed on her face.
And I guess I shoulda gotten her number,
But sometimes you just do something dumber:
I couldn't resist the fun of lettin' the ricers catch me for another
race.
A couple tried a fly-by, but I seen it a-comin'
I hit the gas and and my motor started hummin'
I left a riced Prelude like he was in reverse.
Some others turned off as soon as they could,
They feared the black car with the bulge in the hood.
And the green Focus got beat even worse.
Later the first ricer caught up and tried a fly-by,
I let 'im get close and showed 'im the power of the Dark Side:
Four, five, six lengths and going - he really got burned.
Pinned to the seat you could hear the turbo whistle
And the "WHOOSH" of air from the boxy black missle
I eased off the gas and wondered, "When will they learn?"
