Lyrics

Hey looky here, says my pressure's low
Do the four perfect wheels I see
Make me a liar?
No, no, no, it's a run-flat tire.

Get lots of flats and it seems to me
That the glass and the nails and the screws I see,
They all conspire
Mmm, mmm, mmm, To pop my tire.

Sometimes it's like someone took a spike, baby,
Rusty and red. Cut a six inch valley in the middle of my tread.

Don't know what to ask, and I wouldn't if I did,
Put a grease-stained hand on my thousand dollar suit and said
Why don't you try 'er?
Mmm, mmm, mmm. I fixed your tire.
Mmm, mmm, mmm. I fixed your tire.