| I was pullin' up a hill that’s known as the Devil’s Crest
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| Haulin' 36 ton on a run called the Nitro Express
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| There was nothin' but curves a runnin' from the top on down
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| And at the bottom of the grade sat a quiet little country town
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| Well, I was drivin' off the top when she jarred and the driveshaft broke
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| Started pumpin' up the brakes, saw 'em going in a big cloud of smoke
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| To keep 'er upright… I knew I had to do my best
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| Against a runaway bomb they call the Nitro Express
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| There was 36 ton of a detonated steel
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| Over 18 tires that smoked and squealed
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| I had to ride her down and I couldn’t jump free
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| Or there’d be a big hole where that little town used to be
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| Well that old trailer leaned each time that I took another curve
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| My hands started sweatin' and I knew I was losin' my nerve
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| And I was cussin' each rock and every inch of the Devil’s Crest
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| A fightin' with the wheel of a rig called the Nitro Express
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| I side-swipped a mountain so I’d slow her down by rubbin' her side
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| And when the sparks started flyin' man it looked like the 4th of July
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| I finally got her stopped … but mister I’m a gonna confess
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| That’s the last run I’m makin' in a rig called the Nitro Express
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| (Repeat Chorus — change last line to. Cause there’d be a big
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| Hole where that little town used to be |