"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.
Chorus:
Screw on the silencers, screw on the silencers
'cause real bad boys movin' silence
Screw on the sliencers, screw on the silencers
'cause real bad boys movin' silence
Verse one: shyheim
I stash butterflie knives and 45's in ma garments
Fuck nigga, I take a pussy God quick
Peep ma stee in the streets where respected
Like the rectomatic dime back to the method, zee
Bomb on heads like what kid
I keep em on slow mo son I'm the champion at one on one
I make it death fun when I killed ya
I take a power driller and drill it right through ya liver
Ha, ha, ha,
I'm ruthless possesed by the devil
Fuck fire part I'm on a hole nother level
Tha mess tablets make ya mind flick
Ma murdarous styles, I kid make female groupies lickin' ya dick
Word to ma mother I put this on tour wicked
The first that fakin' I relacin'ma dislocatin'
Real niggaz do real things youknowhatimean ?
The first that fake the game so lincoln thrown in the fiend
Killa kane where ya at ?
Should he be packin gats, runnin, nah son it won't be none a that
The clips who fat plus long, I love doin'wrong plus killin'copperz
Favourite song
[fuck tha police]
Chorus: repeat 2x
Verse two: shyheim
I rol with criminals, coldbloody murderers, drunk hustlaz, suburban
Areas
I know ya heard of us
Pick up and duck for ma niggaz in the bricks
Bad boys, you snakes on the hucious tip
I brusk you shit quick phoney g'z won't call
I mak it, happen like God test me if ya wanna die lord
I wear black to keep ma i.d. on the low
I'm all about makin' dough at the fast time fo
Fuck shootin' up shit that only makes the spot hot
And we don't need the booshaa, blast the blood clot!!!
Say word! word iz bond [ word iz bond!!!!]
Load tha gats up son 'cause once again it's on
Niggaz must be thinkin' that I'm sweet a somethin'
I ain't frontin, want you live, I murder someone!!
Ha, ha, ha,
Fuck y'all crab niggaz
Bring it to me
Word up
Screw on the silencers, screw on the silencers
'cause real bad boys movin' silence
Screw on the sliencers, screw on the silencers
'cause real bad boys movin' silence
Verse one: shyheim
I stash butterflie knives and 45's in ma garments
Fuck nigga, I take a pussy God quick
Peep ma stee in the streets where respected
Like the rectomatic dime back to the method, zee
Bomb on heads like what kid
I keep em on slow mo son I'm the champion at one on one
I make it death fun when I killed ya
I take a power driller and drill it right through ya liver
Ha, ha, ha,
I'm ruthless possesed by the devil
Fuck fire part I'm on a hole nother level
Tha mess tablets make ya mind flick
Ma murdarous styles, I kid make female groupies lickin' ya dick
Word to ma mother I put this on tour wicked
The first that fakin' I relacin'ma dislocatin'
Real niggaz do real things youknowhatimean ?
The first that fake the game so lincoln thrown in the fiend
Killa kane where ya at ?
Should he be packin gats, runnin, nah son it won't be none a that
The clips who fat plus long, I love doin'wrong plus killin'copperz
Favourite song
[fuck tha police]
Chorus: repeat 2x
Verse two: shyheim
I rol with criminals, coldbloody murderers, drunk hustlaz, suburban
Areas
I know ya heard of us
Pick up and duck for ma niggaz in the bricks
Bad boys, you snakes on the hucious tip
I brusk you shit quick phoney g'z won't call
I mak it, happen like God test me if ya wanna die lord
I wear black to keep ma i.d. on the low
I'm all about makin' dough at the fast time fo
Fuck shootin' up shit that only makes the spot hot
And we don't need the booshaa, blast the blood clot!!!
Say word! word iz bond [ word iz bond!!!!]
Load tha gats up son 'cause once again it's on
Niggaz must be thinkin' that I'm sweet a somethin'
I ain't frontin, want you live, I murder someone!!
Ha, ha, ha,
Fuck y'all crab niggaz
Bring it to me
Word up
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Real Bad Boys Lyrics as written by Shyheim Franklin Arby Quinn
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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