"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.
Pussy ain't nothin' but a hole
And most bitches ain't nothing but hoes
So what I'm gonna do right here
Is kick it to the man left rear (run that shit)
And a one and a two and a three
And you got the nigga AMG
And a four and a five and a six
On my left hand side is DJ Quik
We got 2nd II None in the house
We got my man Hi-C in the house
And all the niggas who disapprove
Ya tryin to bust a move
You can get a dick in ya mouth
Yo, you can't fuck with a nigga, I'm holdin' my piece
I'm bailin' down to Crans with my Khakis creased
A link on my neck and a bitch on my dick, so
I put a beeper card on a bitch front window
I'm that nigga who can serve it well
Then bloody up the sheets at a raunchy motel
Yeah, I'mma treat ya, 'cause I'm a feed ya
Take you to McDonald's then I leave ya
Live, via satellite on Rosecrans and Aranbe
We got my boy DJ Quik in the house
And he's gonna take you on a mission
And show you how the real jackers jack, nigga
Yeah, and now I'm takin' off my belt so I can sag (so I can sag)
I keep the 44 Mag in a duffle bag
And in the G-ride, I'm rollin' in the rain
And don't let me catch you slippin' in the turning lane
I creep up to your quarter panel and I pause
Whip out the 4 up to your nose and make you shit your drawers
Now I don't want your money or your hoes
No, all I want is your motherfuckin 'renzo's
Now, let's take a ride down to 'Crans
I'm rollin' with a motherfucker with doodoo in his pants
And a nigga like you can get me work
Because I know you got them birdies that don't chirp
Aww, too bad you didn't make it to your .9
So forget about your Fin-O 'cause it's mine ('cause it's mine)
And to you niggas that be trippin, watch your trunk and don't be slippin'
'Cause the Quik will take your hoopty every time, motherfucker
Once again, it's the motherfuckin' D
You wanna be my bitch, well, you gotta pay a fee
You wanna get quoted, get your ass in the circle
We'll whoop your ass, nigga, 'til your eye turn purple
(Ayo, Craw)
My name is the Craw, the C-R-A-W-F-O-R-D
The poet Hi-C
I got your fat pregnant bitch in my waterbed
And I'm about to bust a nut on your little baby's head
The shit you be talking, I label it "Caca"
Move your fat ass, and pass the vodka
Pour half a cup, fill it up with Socco
Bitches try and trip, you might get socked, ho
"I love you, though," that's what I'm screamin'
Just to get some pussy, I'll be fiendin'
Boyfriend always talking 'bout doggystyle
Wait a while, I can do it froggystyle
(Stop that darn cussing, my children are listening)
Eat a dick, ya bitch
And most bitches ain't nothing but hoes
So what I'm gonna do right here
Is kick it to the man left rear (run that shit)
And a one and a two and a three
And you got the nigga AMG
And a four and a five and a six
On my left hand side is DJ Quik
We got 2nd II None in the house
We got my man Hi-C in the house
And all the niggas who disapprove
Ya tryin to bust a move
You can get a dick in ya mouth
Yo, you can't fuck with a nigga, I'm holdin' my piece
I'm bailin' down to Crans with my Khakis creased
A link on my neck and a bitch on my dick, so
I put a beeper card on a bitch front window
I'm that nigga who can serve it well
Then bloody up the sheets at a raunchy motel
Yeah, I'mma treat ya, 'cause I'm a feed ya
Take you to McDonald's then I leave ya
Live, via satellite on Rosecrans and Aranbe
We got my boy DJ Quik in the house
And he's gonna take you on a mission
And show you how the real jackers jack, nigga
Yeah, and now I'm takin' off my belt so I can sag (so I can sag)
I keep the 44 Mag in a duffle bag
And in the G-ride, I'm rollin' in the rain
And don't let me catch you slippin' in the turning lane
I creep up to your quarter panel and I pause
Whip out the 4 up to your nose and make you shit your drawers
Now I don't want your money or your hoes
No, all I want is your motherfuckin 'renzo's
Now, let's take a ride down to 'Crans
I'm rollin' with a motherfucker with doodoo in his pants
And a nigga like you can get me work
Because I know you got them birdies that don't chirp
Aww, too bad you didn't make it to your .9
So forget about your Fin-O 'cause it's mine ('cause it's mine)
And to you niggas that be trippin, watch your trunk and don't be slippin'
'Cause the Quik will take your hoopty every time, motherfucker
Once again, it's the motherfuckin' D
You wanna be my bitch, well, you gotta pay a fee
You wanna get quoted, get your ass in the circle
We'll whoop your ass, nigga, 'til your eye turn purple
(Ayo, Craw)
My name is the Craw, the C-R-A-W-F-O-R-D
The poet Hi-C
I got your fat pregnant bitch in my waterbed
And I'm about to bust a nut on your little baby's head
The shit you be talking, I label it "Caca"
Move your fat ass, and pass the vodka
Pour half a cup, fill it up with Socco
Bitches try and trip, you might get socked, ho
"I love you, though," that's what I'm screamin'
Just to get some pussy, I'll be fiendin'
Boyfriend always talking 'bout doggystyle
Wait a while, I can do it froggystyle
(Stop that darn cussing, my children are listening)
Eat a dick, ya bitch
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Skanless Lyrics as written by David Marvin Blake Deon Jerrai Barnett
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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