In a flat Forty-One with my strat on the door We was goin' to the country for what we came for. I'm sure you've smelled the trees in the air. The best of motor cruisin's just the joy to get there. I was approachin' Silverton down by the cotton gin. There was old man Berton trying to flag me in. He asked if I would stay awhile and if I needed gas. I said, "No thanks, anyhow I don't drive too fast." Hallelujah, hallelujah, Ride my Chevrolet. Hallelujah, hallelujah, Ride my Chevrolet. I took the road down to Cinco Through that red Brazos River land, Done hit that freeway at sunset. Now the big city lights are at hand. Hallelujah, hallelujah, Ride my Chevrolet. Hallelujah, hallelujah, Ride my Chevrolet. - Billy Gibbons

Chevrоlet 4Х4, cómo te han visto llegar A veces al Sinaloense y otras veces al Parral Es de un vato muy pesado Que no se sabe rajar Nació en mero Sinaloa, en el rancho de las Flechas Se vino a Estados Unidos donde encontró la riqueza Repartiendo sobres finos Mando al diablo la pobreza Aunque el gobierno este bravo, rodan las cosas prohibidas Chevrоlet 4Х4, cómo ha repartido harina Al mercado americano Juntos caben en cantinas Súbale tiro a la 38, mi compa JB De los corridones Puro Legado 7, mi compa En el mar los tiburones hacen merienda al pez chico Y aquí en la tierra que arde, anda pesado el perico De la noche a la mañana Al pobre lo vuelve rico El compa sonriendo dice: "el dinero da poder" Tengo mujeres bonitas, bandas, norteños también De avestruz visto mi cuerpo De cocodrilo mis pies Aquí se acaba el corrido del compa de Sinaloa Cómo anda de traficante, anda en sus buenas troconas Y para cuidar de su vida Carga sus buenas pistolas

The ghosts from these western lands Are gonna rise up against These English sands Like a tumbleweed On a reckless course These barb wire fences Can't keep us apart Where are the heroes That sang them old songs You recognize a hero 'Cause he don't belong We gave up our youth And model railroad trains Picked up guitars and We changed our names With experience of a tortured youth You turn up the music and Go in search of the truth Times are gettin' tougher and there's no turnin' back Times are gettin' tougher and those are the facts They come by the thousands each and every day They had no one to turn to so we turned them away Put their brightest remarks on these dressing room walls Now they waste away in nightclubs and dusty pool halls Prospects were high till provisions ran low Now they sleep beneath the moonlight under blankets of snow A life is a high price to pay for these kicks Stay outta the desert and keep off Route 46 It takes a young man's life and it probably will Minin' for gold in those Hollywood Hills Hear the screams of the souls through the hills of Palisades Down in Rock Canyon they're diggin' up the graves The old church is gone some fool set a blaze Climb the top of Chautauqua check the lights of LA All things are different though nothin' has changed You can still find old empty beer bottles In the brush that burned away It takes a young man's life and it probably will Minin' for gold in those Hollywood Hills It takes a young man's life and it probably will Minin' for gold in those Hollywood Hills