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He has a skinny blonde girlfriend and a thrift store suit
He sings with a Southern twang and he likes to say, ahhh shoot
He’s a back porch rebel with an artistic bent
Some folks even say that his talent is heaven sent
They call him Fireball
Just like that old stock-car racing king
Call him, Fireball, You really oughtta hear him sing
Now he don’t care if people make fun of his Carolina roots
He just grins and crosses his legs and shows off those Beatle boots
He can scamper up a light pole just like an old kudzu vine
When he opens his mouth to sing, well it’s always summertime
They call him Fireball
Just like that old stock-car racing king
Call him, Fireball, You really oughtta hear him sing
The TV station saw him, they put him on the local news
Now his picture’s on the cover of all those rock reviews
But he stays up on his light pole, unless that skinny girlfriend calls
Then he slides right down and hits the ground
Takes off running like a Fireball
Takes off running like a Fireball
They call him Fireball
Just like that old stock-car racing king
Call him, Fireball, You really oughtta hear him sing
He’s got a skinny blonde girlfriend and he wears those thrift-store suits
He sings with a Southern twang and he likes to say, ahhh shoot
He’s a member of the avant garde
But he just doesn’t know what that means
Some folks say he’s touched in the head
But you really oughtta hear him sing
Yeah, you really need hear him sing
Yeah, you really oughtta to hear him sing
They call him Fireball
Just like that old stock-car racing king
Call him, Fireball, You really need hear him sing
