Lyrics:
The street was desserted late Friday nightWe were buggin' each other while we sat out the lightWe both popped our clutch when the light turned greenYou should have heard the wine from my screamin' machineI flew past La Brea, down to Crescent HeightsAnd all the Jag could see were my six tail lightsHe passed me at Doheny and I started to swerveBut I pulled her out and there we were at Deadman's CurveDeadman's Curve is no place to playDeadman's CurveWell, the last thing I remember Doc.I started to swerve, and then I saw the Jag slide into the curbI know I'll never forget that horrible sightI found out for myself, that everyone was rightWon't come back from Deadman's CurveDeadman's Curve is no place to playDeadman's Curve you best keep awayDeadman's Curve I can hear them sayWon't come back from Deadman's Curve