"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.
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns
As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
You got ta, call me, Francis M.H. White
Intake light tokes, tote iron
Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firin'
Keep extra clips for extra shit
Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
The mo shady, (Tell em!) Frankie baby
Ain't no telling where I may be
May see me in D.C. at Howard Homecoming
With my man Capone, dumbing, fucking something
You should know my steelo
Went from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
To orgies with hoes I never seen before
So, Jesus, get off the Notorious
Penis, before I squeeze and bust
If the beef between us, we can settle it
With the chrome and metal shit
I make it hot, like a kettle get
You're delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
Biggie, (How are you gonna do it?)
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get when you're marked for death
Should I start your breath or should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why
Lyrically I'm worshiped, don't front, the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
You herbs get stuck quickly for royalties and show money
Don't forget the publishing, I punish 'em, I'm done with them
Son, I'm surprised you run with them
I think they got cum in them 'cause they nothing but dicks
Trying to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
Mad I smoke hydro, rock diamonds that's sick
Got paid off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
Take trips to Cairo, laying with your bitch
I know you praying you was rich, fucking prick
When I see ya I'mma
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
This goes out for those that choose to use
Disrespectful views on the King of N-Y
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
Now ya brailling it, snatch that light shit, I'm scaling it
Conscious of ya nonsense, in eighty-eight
Sold more powder than Johnson and Johnson
Tote steel like Bronson, "Vigilante"
You wanna get on son, you need to ask me
Ain't no other kings in this rap thing
They siblings, nothing but my children
One shot they disappearin'
It's ill when MC's used to be on cruddy shit
Took home Ready to Die, listened, studied shit
Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
They light weight, fragile, my nine milli
Make the whites shake, that's why my money never funny
And you still recouping, stupid
As I crush so-called willies, thugs, and rapper-dons
Get in that ass, quick fast, like ramadan
Its that rap phenomenon Don-Dadda, fuck Poppa
You got ta, call me, Francis M.H. White
Intake light tokes, tote iron
Was told in shootouts, stay low, and keep firin'
Keep extra clips for extra shit
Who's next to flip, on that cat with that grip on rap
The mo shady, (Tell em!) Frankie baby
Ain't no telling where I may be
May see me in D.C. at Howard Homecoming
With my man Capone, dumbing, fucking something
You should know my steelo
Went from ten G's for blow to thirty G's a show
To orgies with hoes I never seen before
So, Jesus, get off the Notorious
Penis, before I squeeze and bust
If the beef between us, we can settle it
With the chrome and metal shit
I make it hot, like a kettle get
You're delicate, you better get, who sent ya?
You still pedal shit, I got more rides than Great Adventure
Biggie, (How are you gonna do it?)
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
On ya mark, get set, when I spark, ya wet
Look how dark it get when you're marked for death
Should I start your breath or should I let you die
In fear you start to cry, ask why
Lyrically I'm worshiped, don't front, the word sick
You cursed it, but rehearsed it
I drop unexpectedly like bird shit
You herbs get stuck quickly for royalties and show money
Don't forget the publishing, I punish 'em, I'm done with them
Son, I'm surprised you run with them
I think they got cum in them 'cause they nothing but dicks
Trying to blow up like nitro and dynamite sticks
Mad I smoke hydro, rock diamonds that's sick
Got paid off my flow, rhyme with my own clique
Take trips to Cairo, laying with your bitch
I know you praying you was rich, fucking prick
When I see ya I'mma
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
Kick in the door, waving the four-four
All you heard was Poppa don't hit me no more
This goes out for those that choose to use
Disrespectful views on the King of N-Y
Fuck that, why try, throw bleach in your eye
Now ya brailling it, snatch that light shit, I'm scaling it
Conscious of ya nonsense, in eighty-eight
Sold more powder than Johnson and Johnson
Tote steel like Bronson, "Vigilante"
You wanna get on son, you need to ask me
Ain't no other kings in this rap thing
They siblings, nothing but my children
One shot they disappearin'
It's ill when MC's used to be on cruddy shit
Took home Ready to Die, listened, studied shit
Now they on some money shit, successful out the blue
They light weight, fragile, my nine milli
Make the whites shake, that's why my money never funny
And you still recouping, stupid
Lyrics submitted by spliphstar
Kick in the Door Lyrics as written by Jay Hawkins Christopher E Martin
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Royalty Network, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
Add your thoughts
Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.
Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!
More Featured Meanings
Fast Car
Tracy Chapman
Tracy Chapman
No Surprises
Radiohead
Radiohead
Same ideas expressed in Fitter, Happier are expressed in this song. We're told to strive for some sort of ideal life, which includes getting a good job, being kind to everyone, finding a partner, getting married, having a couple kids, living in a quiet neighborhood in a nice big house, etc. But in Fitter, Happier the narrator(?) realizes that it's incredibly robotic to live this life. People are being used by those in power "like a pig in a cage on antibiotics"--being pacified with things like new phones and cool gadgets and houses while being sucked dry. On No Surprises, the narrator is realizing how this life is killing him slowly. In the video, his helmet is slowly filling up with water, drowning him. But he's so complacent with it. This is a good summary of the song. This boring, "perfect" life foisted upon us by some higher powers (not spiritual, but political, economic, etc. politicians and businessmen, perhaps) is not the way to live. But there is seemingly no way out but death. He'd rather die peacefully right now than live in this cage. While our lives are often shielded, we're in our own protective bubbles, or protective helmets like the one Thom wears, if we look a little harder we can see all the corruption, lies, manipulation, etc. that is going on in the world, often run by huge yet nearly invisible organizations, corporations, and 'leaders'. It's a very hopeless song because it reflects real life.
Magical
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
How would you describe the feeling of being in love? For Ed Sheeran, the word is “Magical.” in HIS three-minute album opener, he makes an attempt to capture the beauty and delicacy of true love with words. He describes the magic of it all over a bright Pop song produced by Aaron Dessner.
Page
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
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.
Plastic Bag
Ed Sheeran
Ed Sheeran
“Plastic Bag” is a song about searching for an escape from personal problems and hoping to find it in the lively atmosphere of a Saturday night party. Ed Sheeran tells the story of his friend and the myriad of troubles he is going through. Unable to find any solutions, this friend seeks a last resort in a party and the vanity that comes with it.
“I overthink and have trouble sleepin’ / All purpose gone and don’t have a reason / And there’s no doctor to stop this bleedin’ / So I left home and jumped in the deep end,” Ed Sheeran sings in verse one. He continues by adding that this person is feeling the weight of having disappointed his father and doesn’t have any friends to rely on in this difficult moment. In the second verse, Ed sings about the role of grief in his friend’s plight and his dwindling faith in prayer. “Saturday night is givin’ me a reason to rely on the strobe lights / The lifeline of a promise in a shot glass, and I’ll take that / If you’re givin’ out love from a plastic bag,” Ed sings on the chorus, as his friend turns to new vices in hopes of feeling better.
just another example of biggie's amazing flow