"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.
[Repeat x2]
My folks on the block man they got dat work
Man they got dat work? (Don't it smell so sweet?)
[Chorus: Repeat x2]
(I got dat work!) Yola, cavi, cream
Fuck the law, charge it to the triple beam
(I got dat work!) Young riders run the block
Bosses cook it up, chop it up and dish it out
Yo, what it is, what it was, what it ain't (ain't)
Pimp containers, let's put some paint where it ain't
Block boys, tycoons, big ballers (big ballers)
Young hustlers mayne, shot callers (shot callers)
Get off into this real shit (real shit)
There's a shortage on this real shit, I'm still here
And my heard don't pump cool-Aid, my heart pump beer
Malt liquor, 211 Steel Reserve
Got'cha potnah hella perved, slidin' through the turf like
What that is, family? What it look like?
How much you tryin' to spend? What you hustlers need?
I got it all day pimp, weed hop speed
I ball like Spalding, I'm from the game
I keep my mouthpiece loaded ready to iron {?} tame
I'm so damn gone, I'm off the hanger, full of excitement
Run a credit check on ya, front you some candy on consignment
My designated riders got my back like a car seat
Got twenty four inch tires on my GMC, EXT
Or should I say, ESV, extended sports utility
Black on black, SUV, fifteen inch screen TV
[Chorus]
Self-reliant, benefits off drug-related environments
Crack pipes, needle fiends, appliances
Alcohol intake, overdose of the big quake
Overdose of that dopness make the bridge break
V-Town, central walk
Serve dope instrumental, me and my folks
Lil' homey on the handlebars
Mean mug hard like a thug on the yard
Throw my weight around mark, don't call it the boul'
I call it the bully-vard, THICK powder to snort
Turf talk won't smoke gotta dip the new cars
Materialistic, Jordans and gold watch (I got dat work!)
You want it you gotta buy dope from us
Swallow rocks through my belly that pass a rush
Throw it up, pack it in, I got dope to push
Tennis shoe pimpin back and forth to my {?} bush
[Chorus]
Oooh! My crimey's doin a dove on the yard (on the yard)
Know all the latest developments on the boulevard (on the boulevard)
Before he went down he gave out some credit stories
Sent his enforcers and skullcrushers to go collect it
But you know how this new generation is, man they ain't havin it
Ain't no more rules, it's dirty pool
Ain't no more dudes that can tell me I'm right or wrong
As far as I'm concerned, motherfucker I'm grown!
I got my Sidekick, I got my T-Mobile phone
I'm talkin hella shit (hella shit) shit to my broad, she at home
I'm like where you at? (Where you at?) She said I'm layin' on the flo'
She said the El-roys there, they done kicked in my do'
For those that don't know, kinda slow, need to be creased
The Elroys, that's what we named the police
I got my d-boys, hood famous {?} suit us
The ghost clears, we right back at it again
Man I keep my parchment paper bail money out of incarceration
And my lawyer too case I need some legal, representation
I'm a warrior like you be listenin' to, music you can relate to
Like E-40 and them and the Sic Wid'It crew
[Chorus]
I got dat work!
[Repeat x4]
My folks on the block man they got dat work
Man they got dat work? (Don't it smell so sweet?)
I got dat work!
My folks on the block man they got dat work
Man they got dat work? (Don't it smell so sweet?)
[Chorus: Repeat x2]
(I got dat work!) Yola, cavi, cream
Fuck the law, charge it to the triple beam
(I got dat work!) Young riders run the block
Bosses cook it up, chop it up and dish it out
Yo, what it is, what it was, what it ain't (ain't)
Pimp containers, let's put some paint where it ain't
Block boys, tycoons, big ballers (big ballers)
Young hustlers mayne, shot callers (shot callers)
Get off into this real shit (real shit)
There's a shortage on this real shit, I'm still here
And my heard don't pump cool-Aid, my heart pump beer
Malt liquor, 211 Steel Reserve
Got'cha potnah hella perved, slidin' through the turf like
What that is, family? What it look like?
How much you tryin' to spend? What you hustlers need?
I got it all day pimp, weed hop speed
I ball like Spalding, I'm from the game
I keep my mouthpiece loaded ready to iron {?} tame
I'm so damn gone, I'm off the hanger, full of excitement
Run a credit check on ya, front you some candy on consignment
My designated riders got my back like a car seat
Got twenty four inch tires on my GMC, EXT
Or should I say, ESV, extended sports utility
Black on black, SUV, fifteen inch screen TV
[Chorus]
Self-reliant, benefits off drug-related environments
Crack pipes, needle fiends, appliances
Alcohol intake, overdose of the big quake
Overdose of that dopness make the bridge break
V-Town, central walk
Serve dope instrumental, me and my folks
Lil' homey on the handlebars
Mean mug hard like a thug on the yard
Throw my weight around mark, don't call it the boul'
I call it the bully-vard, THICK powder to snort
Turf talk won't smoke gotta dip the new cars
Materialistic, Jordans and gold watch (I got dat work!)
You want it you gotta buy dope from us
Swallow rocks through my belly that pass a rush
Throw it up, pack it in, I got dope to push
Tennis shoe pimpin back and forth to my {?} bush
[Chorus]
Oooh! My crimey's doin a dove on the yard (on the yard)
Know all the latest developments on the boulevard (on the boulevard)
Before he went down he gave out some credit stories
Sent his enforcers and skullcrushers to go collect it
But you know how this new generation is, man they ain't havin it
Ain't no more rules, it's dirty pool
Ain't no more dudes that can tell me I'm right or wrong
As far as I'm concerned, motherfucker I'm grown!
I got my Sidekick, I got my T-Mobile phone
I'm talkin hella shit (hella shit) shit to my broad, she at home
I'm like where you at? (Where you at?) She said I'm layin' on the flo'
She said the El-roys there, they done kicked in my do'
For those that don't know, kinda slow, need to be creased
The Elroys, that's what we named the police
I got my d-boys, hood famous {?} suit us
The ghost clears, we right back at it again
Man I keep my parchment paper bail money out of incarceration
And my lawyer too case I need some legal, representation
I'm a warrior like you be listenin' to, music you can relate to
Like E-40 and them and the Sic Wid'It crew
[Chorus]
I got dat work!
[Repeat x4]
My folks on the block man they got dat work
Man they got dat work? (Don't it smell so sweet?)
I got dat work!
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
I Got Dat Work Lyrics as written by Earl Stevens D. Bernstein
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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