"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.
The streets of Soho
Ah, that's where your kids go
The streets of Soho
Chinatown or Flaminco
Out in the streets
Profane stokers sweat in the heat
(Delilah was born)
A greyhound body punctured and torn
The take-away eats
A grubby chef cooks up yesterday's meats
And a baby is born
But mama gets drunk, dad never comes home
The streets of Soho
There's tourists everywhere
The streets of Soho
You got French models up there
Oh, the streets of Soho
You can spend all your money
The streets of Soho
Land of poison and honey
The rush hour is here
Pinstriped bowlers made in India
They emerge from the tube
Their faces fixed in permanent sneers
Whatever your taste
You're guaranteed to find it all here
A fix in the gents:
A topless massage
In the streets of Soho
Oh, that's where your kids go
The streets of Soho
They got rock, jazz or disco
Get down, get down, get down
Ah, that's where your kids go
The streets of Soho
Chinatown or Flaminco
Out in the streets
Profane stokers sweat in the heat
(Delilah was born)
A greyhound body punctured and torn
The take-away eats
A grubby chef cooks up yesterday's meats
And a baby is born
But mama gets drunk, dad never comes home
The streets of Soho
There's tourists everywhere
The streets of Soho
You got French models up there
Oh, the streets of Soho
You can spend all your money
The streets of Soho
Land of poison and honey
The rush hour is here
Pinstriped bowlers made in India
They emerge from the tube
Their faces fixed in permanent sneers
Whatever your taste
You're guaranteed to find it all here
A fix in the gents:
A topless massage
In the streets of Soho
Oh, that's where your kids go
The streets of Soho
They got rock, jazz or disco
Get down, get down, get down
Lyrics submitted by wolfblood4
Soho Lyrics as written by Phil Collins John Goodsall
Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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