"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.
Mother doesn't go out anymore
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know 'bout the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know 'bout the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers
Mother's wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the TV's on?
Whatever moves beyond these walls
She'll know the facts when Sunday comes along
If you want to know 'bout the mad punk rockers*
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know 'bout any other suckers
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Brother's headin' that way now, I guess
He just read somethin', made his face turn blue
Well I got nothin' 'gainst the press
They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true
If you want to know 'bout the gay politician (oh yeah!)
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know 'bout the new sex position
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Read all about it, Sunday papers
Get your Sunday paper, get your Sunday paper, get your
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Come words of wisdom from the world outside
If you want to know 'bout the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know 'bout the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers
Mother's wheelchair stays out in the hall
Why should she go out when the TV's on?
Whatever moves beyond these walls
She'll know the facts when Sunday comes along
If you want to know 'bout the mad punk rockers*
If you want to know how to play guitar
If you want to know 'bout any other suckers
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Brother's headin' that way now, I guess
He just read somethin', made his face turn blue
Well I got nothin' 'gainst the press
They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true
If you want to know 'bout the gay politician (oh yeah!)
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know 'bout the new sex position
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
Read all about it, Sunday papers
Get your Sunday paper, get your Sunday paper, get your
Lyrics submitted by agnamaracs
Sunday Papers Lyrics as written by David Ian Jackson
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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