"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.
Okay, I'm reloaded!
You motherfuckers, think you big time?
Fuckin with Jay-Z, you gon' die, big time!
Here come the "Pain"
Jigga (Jigga), Bigga (Bigga)
Nigga, how you figure (how you figure)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ayo, peep the style and the way the cops sweat us (uh-huh)
The number one question is can the feds get us (uh-huh)
I got vendettas in dice games against ass bettors (uh-huh)
And niggas who pump wheels and drive Jettas
Take that with ya
Hit ya, back split ya (uh)
Fuck fist fights and lame scuffles (uh)
Pillow case to your face, make the shell muffle (woo)
Shoot your daughter in the calf muscle (mhm)
Fuck a tussle, nickel-plated
Sprinkle coke on the floor, make it drug-related (haha)
Most hated
Can't fade it (uh, what?)
While y'all pump Willie, I run up and stunt silly (uh-huh)
Scared, so you sent your little mans to come kill me (uh)
But on the con-trilli, I packs the MAC-milli
Squeezed off on him, left them paramedics breathin' soft on him
"What's ya name?"
Who shot ya? Mob ties like Sinatra (uh)
Peruvians tried to do me in, I ain't paid them yet
Tryin' to push 700s, they ain't made them yet
Rolex and bracelets is frostbite rings too
Niggas 'round the way call me Igloo, stick who? (Motherfucker)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn, goin' out for all
(Marcy) That's right, you don't stop
(Bed-stuy) You won't stop (nigga)
What, what, what?
Jay-z, Big' Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
Brooklyn represent y'all, hit you fold
You crazy, think your little bit of rhymes can play me?
I'm from Marcy, I'm varsity, chump, you're JV
(Jigga) Jay-Z
Biggie baby! (Uh)
My Bed-Stuy flow's malicious, delicious
Fuck three wishes, made my road to riches
From 62s, Gemstars, my mom's dishes (uh)
Gram choppin', police van dockin'
Ds at my doors knockin' (what?)
Keep rockin', yeah
No more mister nice guy, I twist your shit
The fuck back with the pistols blazin'
Hot like Cajun (uh)
Hotter than even holdin' work at the Days Inn
With New York plates outside
Get up out of there, fuck your ride
Keep your hands high, shit gets steeper (uh)
Here comes the Grim Reaper, Frank White
Leave the keys to your InnKeeper (that's right)
Chill, homie, the bitch in the Shoney's told me
You're holdin' more drugs than a pharmacy
You ain't harmin' me, so pardon me
Pass the safe, before I blaze the place
And here's six shots just in case
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Crown Heights) You don't stop
(Brownsville) You won't stop (nigga)
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
(Ha ha) Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where we from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Bushwick) You don't stop
(Fort Greene) You won't stop (niggas)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
For '9-6, the only MC with a flu
Yeah I rhyme sick, I be what you're trying to do
Made a fortune off Peru, extradite, China white heroin
Nigga please, like short sleeves I bear arms (um)
Stay out my way from here on (clear?) Gone! (uh)
Me and Gutter had two spots
The 2-for-5 dollar hits, the blue tops (uh-huh)
Gotta go, Coolio mean it's gettin' Too Hot
If Fay' had twins, she'd probably have two Pacs (uh)
Get it? Tupac's? (hh, uhh, uhh)
Time to separate the pros from the cons (and-uh)
The platinum from the bronze
That butter-soft shit from that leather on the Fonz (uh)
A S1 diamond from a I class don
A Chandon sipper from a Rose nigga, huh
Brook-nam, sippin' on
Cristal forever, play the crib when it's mink weather (uh)
The M.A.f.i.a. Keep cannons in they Marc Buchanans (uh)
Usually cuatro cinco, the shell sink slow
Tossin' ya, mad slugs through your Nautica
I'm warnin' ya (ha, what the fuck?)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Flatbush) You don't stop
(Red Hook) That's right, you won't stop (nigga)
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all (ohwee)
(East New York) You don't stop
(Clinton Hill) You won't stop (nigga)
Is Brooklyn in the house?
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Uhh, Roc-A-Fella y'all, Junior M.A.F.I.A
Supermen clique
Brooklyn's Finest, you re-wind this
Representing BK to the fullest
You motherfuckers, think you big time?
Fuckin with Jay-Z, you gon' die, big time!
Here come the "Pain"
Jigga (Jigga), Bigga (Bigga)
Nigga, how you figure (how you figure)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ayo, peep the style and the way the cops sweat us (uh-huh)
The number one question is can the feds get us (uh-huh)
I got vendettas in dice games against ass bettors (uh-huh)
And niggas who pump wheels and drive Jettas
Take that with ya
Hit ya, back split ya (uh)
Fuck fist fights and lame scuffles (uh)
Pillow case to your face, make the shell muffle (woo)
Shoot your daughter in the calf muscle (mhm)
Fuck a tussle, nickel-plated
Sprinkle coke on the floor, make it drug-related (haha)
Most hated
Can't fade it (uh, what?)
While y'all pump Willie, I run up and stunt silly (uh-huh)
Scared, so you sent your little mans to come kill me (uh)
But on the con-trilli, I packs the MAC-milli
Squeezed off on him, left them paramedics breathin' soft on him
"What's ya name?"
Who shot ya? Mob ties like Sinatra (uh)
Peruvians tried to do me in, I ain't paid them yet
Tryin' to push 700s, they ain't made them yet
Rolex and bracelets is frostbite rings too
Niggas 'round the way call me Igloo, stick who? (Motherfucker)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn, goin' out for all
(Marcy) That's right, you don't stop
(Bed-stuy) You won't stop (nigga)
What, what, what?
Jay-z, Big' Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
Brooklyn represent y'all, hit you fold
You crazy, think your little bit of rhymes can play me?
I'm from Marcy, I'm varsity, chump, you're JV
(Jigga) Jay-Z
Biggie baby! (Uh)
My Bed-Stuy flow's malicious, delicious
Fuck three wishes, made my road to riches
From 62s, Gemstars, my mom's dishes (uh)
Gram choppin', police van dockin'
Ds at my doors knockin' (what?)
Keep rockin', yeah
No more mister nice guy, I twist your shit
The fuck back with the pistols blazin'
Hot like Cajun (uh)
Hotter than even holdin' work at the Days Inn
With New York plates outside
Get up out of there, fuck your ride
Keep your hands high, shit gets steeper (uh)
Here comes the Grim Reaper, Frank White
Leave the keys to your InnKeeper (that's right)
Chill, homie, the bitch in the Shoney's told me
You're holdin' more drugs than a pharmacy
You ain't harmin' me, so pardon me
Pass the safe, before I blaze the place
And here's six shots just in case
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Crown Heights) You don't stop
(Brownsville) You won't stop (nigga)
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
(Ha ha) Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where we from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Bushwick) You don't stop
(Fort Greene) You won't stop (niggas)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
For '9-6, the only MC with a flu
Yeah I rhyme sick, I be what you're trying to do
Made a fortune off Peru, extradite, China white heroin
Nigga please, like short sleeves I bear arms (um)
Stay out my way from here on (clear?) Gone! (uh)
Me and Gutter had two spots
The 2-for-5 dollar hits, the blue tops (uh-huh)
Gotta go, Coolio mean it's gettin' Too Hot
If Fay' had twins, she'd probably have two Pacs (uh)
Get it? Tupac's? (hh, uhh, uhh)
Time to separate the pros from the cons (and-uh)
The platinum from the bronze
That butter-soft shit from that leather on the Fonz (uh)
A S1 diamond from a I class don
A Chandon sipper from a Rose nigga, huh
Brook-nam, sippin' on
Cristal forever, play the crib when it's mink weather (uh)
The M.A.f.i.a. Keep cannons in they Marc Buchanans (uh)
Usually cuatro cinco, the shell sink slow
Tossin' ya, mad slugs through your Nautica
I'm warnin' ya (ha, what the fuck?)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Flatbush) You don't stop
(Red Hook) That's right, you won't stop (nigga)
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit your drawers
(Where you from?) Brooklyn goin' out to all (ohwee)
(East New York) You don't stop
(Clinton Hill) You won't stop (nigga)
Is Brooklyn in the house?
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Uhh, Roc-A-Fella y'all, Junior M.A.F.I.A
Supermen clique
Brooklyn's Finest, you re-wind this
Representing BK to the fullest
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Brooklyn's Finest Lyrics as written by Marshall Jones Rodolfo Antonio Franklin
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Word Collections Publishing, Spirit Music Group, Downtown Music Publishing
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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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".
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