The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
"I feel like everybody wants something from me"
"Yeah tell me about it, it's a cold world out there
Sometimes I think I'm getting a little frosty myself"
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
Animal found toast
But my ghetto
Animal
Life's ill, sometimes life might kill
Vordul Mega, five digits grab mics, mic strike type ill
Is life real? Yo akh' he builds
When life feels like Earth don't spin, whirlwinds might blend
Life's at a standstill, dangerous cause man kills
And still cats visualize life ghetto like
One mind, sometime these cats see life
Street life in complete light and be like
I'm a live life after this one crime
One line from the Megalah blow spines
Everyone knows the city's ill, cats kill
Still black man holds nine, Gotta chill star C-A.L.L.A.H
Be the light of Shamar, work hard Shamar C-Cipher-A.L.L.A.H
Adapt bars snatch stars and detach large channels
But our bar's handle might, break mics
Vordul Megalah the cannibal ate mics
Strive, live live
Fuck five, I want a hundred and eight mics
Son, yo son did you see that kid yo?
Yo, yo, chill out man, chill out
Yo son did you, yo son he pulled it out"
Five digits cock biddy nine milli
One floor shot silly, spun city one verse hit milly
Little girls spinning curls three sixty, living in a world shitty
Yo they spun young earth, now shitty
NY 5-0 might shoot black head
Nigga sorry I sold space suit to crack head
DTs operate mechanically, po-po in slow-mo
Black kids locked away, add a key
Plus one fourth pound of smoke flow
While lock head Fabian, Ahmed Arabian, laying in
Bodeg holding drama AK, spoke like As-salamu OK
Choking vodka mixed with OJ
Wig splits mad quick
Spinning three six O wave, C4 blew the door
Number eight, Summer face tank top with a knot
Number nine said run the place
Took my girl stereo, CD, plus the tape
Brooke star, don't wet that, fucked her face lets stuff the place
Jet back to Santa Cruz, Californ-i-a
Peace to C-God locked up, cat born nine ways
Come home mad soon, live ill, life phases
Like little black girl got shot
Damn it hurts when they spun earth filled with knots
Gonna make a difference so we get locked
Caught in the shit and losing what we got
Come on black equals, equals
"Do you know that you're one of the few predator species
That preys even on itself?"
And if there's crack in a basement
Crack heads stand adjacent
Anger displacement from food stamp arrangements
You were a still born baby, mother didn't want you
But you were still born
Boy meets world, of course his pops is gone, what you figure
That chalky outline on the ground is a father figure?
So he steps to the next stencil, that's a hustler
Infested with money and diamond cluster
Let's talk in layman terms
Rotten apples and big worms, early birds and poachers
New York is evil at its core, so those who have more than them
Prepare to be victims
Ate up by vultures, the politicians
In a dog eat dog culture, that'll sick 'em
Lack of mineral, we take it personal
A pigeon can't drop shit if it never flew
Every day is no frills, empty krills
Broken 40 bottles and MCs with skills
I rest my head on 115
But miracles only happen on 34th, so I guess life is mean
And death is the median
And purgatory is the mode that we settle in (no doubt)
I've got that Eve's Bayou sense of touch
So I fought, to touch every hand of a fan to read their thoughts
Battered wives, molested children
Roaches on the floor, rats in the ceiling
Cats walk around New York with two fillings
One is in their mouth, the other does the killing
I'm Vast Aire, Kramer, top billing
(Yo rest in peace to Big L, 139)
"Yeah tell me about it, it's a cold world out there
Sometimes I think I'm getting a little frosty myself"
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
My shell, mechanical found ghost
But my ghetto is animal found toast
Animal found toast
But my ghetto
Animal
Life's ill, sometimes life might kill
Vordul Mega, five digits grab mics, mic strike type ill
Is life real? Yo akh' he builds
When life feels like Earth don't spin, whirlwinds might blend
Life's at a standstill, dangerous cause man kills
And still cats visualize life ghetto like
One mind, sometime these cats see life
Street life in complete light and be like
I'm a live life after this one crime
One line from the Megalah blow spines
Everyone knows the city's ill, cats kill
Still black man holds nine, Gotta chill star C-A.L.L.A.H
Be the light of Shamar, work hard Shamar C-Cipher-A.L.L.A.H
Adapt bars snatch stars and detach large channels
But our bar's handle might, break mics
Vordul Megalah the cannibal ate mics
Strive, live live
Fuck five, I want a hundred and eight mics
Son, yo son did you see that kid yo?
Yo, yo, chill out man, chill out
Yo son did you, yo son he pulled it out"
Five digits cock biddy nine milli
One floor shot silly, spun city one verse hit milly
Little girls spinning curls three sixty, living in a world shitty
Yo they spun young earth, now shitty
NY 5-0 might shoot black head
Nigga sorry I sold space suit to crack head
DTs operate mechanically, po-po in slow-mo
Black kids locked away, add a key
Plus one fourth pound of smoke flow
While lock head Fabian, Ahmed Arabian, laying in
Bodeg holding drama AK, spoke like As-salamu OK
Choking vodka mixed with OJ
Wig splits mad quick
Spinning three six O wave, C4 blew the door
Number eight, Summer face tank top with a knot
Number nine said run the place
Took my girl stereo, CD, plus the tape
Brooke star, don't wet that, fucked her face lets stuff the place
Jet back to Santa Cruz, Californ-i-a
Peace to C-God locked up, cat born nine ways
Come home mad soon, live ill, life phases
Like little black girl got shot
Damn it hurts when they spun earth filled with knots
Gonna make a difference so we get locked
Caught in the shit and losing what we got
Come on black equals, equals
"Do you know that you're one of the few predator species
That preys even on itself?"
And if there's crack in a basement
Crack heads stand adjacent
Anger displacement from food stamp arrangements
You were a still born baby, mother didn't want you
But you were still born
Boy meets world, of course his pops is gone, what you figure
That chalky outline on the ground is a father figure?
So he steps to the next stencil, that's a hustler
Infested with money and diamond cluster
Let's talk in layman terms
Rotten apples and big worms, early birds and poachers
New York is evil at its core, so those who have more than them
Prepare to be victims
Ate up by vultures, the politicians
In a dog eat dog culture, that'll sick 'em
Lack of mineral, we take it personal
A pigeon can't drop shit if it never flew
Every day is no frills, empty krills
Broken 40 bottles and MCs with skills
I rest my head on 115
But miracles only happen on 34th, so I guess life is mean
And death is the median
And purgatory is the mode that we settle in (no doubt)
I've got that Eve's Bayou sense of touch
So I fought, to touch every hand of a fan to read their thoughts
Battered wives, molested children
Roaches on the floor, rats in the ceiling
Cats walk around New York with two fillings
One is in their mouth, the other does the killing
I'm Vast Aire, Kramer, top billing
(Yo rest in peace to Big L, 139)
Lyrics submitted by BillyPilgrim, edited by e8ghtmileshigh
Iron Galaxy Lyrics as written by Shamar Eugene Gardner Jaime Meline
Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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"Fast car" is kind of a continuation of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." It has all the clawing your way to a better life, but in this case the protagonist never makes it with her love; in fact she is dragged back down by him.
There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
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@[Diderik:33655] "Your a holiday!" Was a popular term used in the 50s/60s to compliment someone on their all around. For example, not only are they beautiful, but they are fun and kind too ... just an all around "holiday".
I think your first comment is closer to being accurate. The singer/song writers state "Millions of eyes can see, yet why am i so blind!? When the someone else is me, its unkind its unkind". I believe hes referring to the girl toying with him and using him. He wants something deeper with her, thats why he allows himself to be as a puppet (even though for her fun and games) as long as it makes her happy. But he knows deep down that she doesnt really want to be serious with him and thats what makes him.
Amazing
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Ed Sheeran tells a story of unsuccessfully trying to feel “Amazing.” This track is about the being weighed down by emotional stress despite valiant attempts to find some positivity in the situation. This track was written by Ed Sheeran from the perspective of his friend. From the track, we see this person fall deeper into the negative thoughts and slide further down the path of mental torment with every lyric.
Page
Ed Sheeran
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There aren’t many things that’ll hurt more than giving love a chance against your better judgement only to have your heart crushed yet again. Ed Sheeran tells such a story on “Page.” On this track, he is devastated to have lost his lover and even more saddened by the feeling that he may never move on from this.
i love the part with the math references, "so I guess life is mean, and death is the median, and purgatory is the mode that we settle in." i wish more rap was intelligently written like this, and less concerned with consumerism.