Well, I was pulling up a grade that's known as the Devil's CrestHauling 36-ton on a run called the Nitro ExpressThere was nothing but curves running from the top on downAnd at the bottom of the grade said a quiet little country townWell, I was driving off the top when she jarred and the drive shaft brokeStarted pumping up the brakes saw her go in a big cloud of smokeTo keep her upright I knew I had to do my bestAgainst a runaway bomb they call the Nitro ExpressThere was 36-ton of a bit made of steel over 18 tires that smoked and squealedI had to ride her down I couldn't jump freeOr there'd be a big hole where that little town used to beWell, that old trader leaned each time that I took another curveMy hands started sweating and I knew I was losing my nerveAnd I was cussing each rock and every inch of the Devil's CrestWhile fighting with the wheel of a rig called the Nitro ExpressI sideswiped the mountain so I'd slow her down by rubbing her sideAnd when the sparks started flying man it looked like the 4th of JulyI finally got her stopped but mister I'm a gonna confessThat's the last run I'm making in a rig called the Nitro ExpressThere was 36-ton of a bit made of steel over 18 tires that smoked and squealedI had to ride her down I couldn't jump freeOr there'd be a big hole where that little town used to beThere was 36-ton of a bit made of steel over 18 tires that smoked and squealedI had to ride her down I couldn't jump freeOr there'd be a big hole where that little town used to be