Don't worry about your boy

He's just stuck in a bad boy phase

Got a new tattoo and an old guitar

Gonna hit the streets and make his own way



Tear it up, tear it up

He's a suicide king running straight to hell

Better believe that he's got a story to tell



There's a cherry red born in '61

The tires are flat and the rag top's torn

He sees it everyday and knows some way

Gonna gas it up and drive it away



Tear it up, tear it up

He's a suicide king running straight to hell

Better believe that he's got a story to tell



Howling at the moon at night 

His future's going up in flames

Like the heart tattooed forever on his arm

All messed up with no place to go

Gonna point the car right at the moon

With a suicide king as his good luck charm



Suicide king running straight to hell

Got a half a pint of courage and a story to tell

Still got that old guitar and that old tattoo

And that '61 caddy now he's got that too