Gary's job's ridiculous, under trucks lookin' so conspicuous.
And rowl! When you hear that engine growl, if you hold the truck steady he gon' fix it now.
Forget about game; I'm a spit the truth: He won't stop till he get his boss to buy him food.
So give him the ribs and it'll be into that pork; he'll bend over to the plate with a knife and fork.
He left the fat and he took the rolls, if they aint buttered then he prob'ly gon' lose control.
How you like him now, with his Dickies holdin' over two hundred pounds, and
Wrench crank, don't forget the grease. Gary Gray fix trucks like Midas, please.
Four in the mornin' when he leaves he's dead, but he be gettin' off work before I get out the bed.