"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.
One of the few dogs that pulled through the Mike Vick fia
Yo my fault man, my fault
One of the few dogs that pulled through the Mike Vick fiasco
Heart of a lion with the strength, straight outta Glasgow
Pudzianowski, known to let the guns loose
Everybody smoking cigarettes in jump suits
Kosovo to the basement of your building
Terrible dentistry, gold in every filling
Cut 'em a deal bet they let you bring the crills in
No English, kill mad kitchen knives concealed in
The staircase is where we earn the degree
The lawsuits on the fine flesh feeding the fiend
Light Caesar-covered skull
Eyes are like the ocean blue
Stay fly, rock Elvis, that's emotional
Nice shirt, crazy hat, mean jacket
Orange drugs if you're reppin' for the team clappin'
With the capillaries, big gun, Tackleberry
Tell the preacher at the chapel get the casket ready
Two seven's hit the third one on the river
Chicken liver dinner have your Jewish mother sitting shiva
'Cause the kid was a putz
Hit the clutch, spin the tires 'til they smoke disappear into the dust, uh
Dive in the muff break the pussy like an Asian cookie
You the type to shave your face to make your anus bushy
Tie a knot in your shirt right by your stomach
You make me wanna vomit, steady getting blunted
The diesel sweet and sour, the blunt vanilla
Twist it to perfection, gentle hands, still a guerrilla
I'm at the villa, '97 D'elegance
The Pelican Brief, you rapping with irrelevance
Hard to kill, call me Mason Storm
Your basic elevate my skills to the type of shit that Gracie's on
Omaplata, guard your nose, Haloti Ngata
Total knocker, seldom sipping Stoli Vodka
Making maneuvers for myself out on a late night
The year been great right? Trying to get the plate right
'Cause I'm a hunter like a great white
And a performer, never stage fright
I'm outta Flushing, Queens
Shoot your gun if you love the smell of money
Love the taste of good weed, vintage in your tummy
Love a bitch with good puss diggin' in her bunny
Peace to gettin' money, peace to gettin' money
Yeah, Flushing, Queens, outdoorsmen shit
Yeah, Action Statik Selektah shit
Kill yourself now
Yo my fault man, my fault
One of the few dogs that pulled through the Mike Vick fiasco
Heart of a lion with the strength, straight outta Glasgow
Pudzianowski, known to let the guns loose
Everybody smoking cigarettes in jump suits
Kosovo to the basement of your building
Terrible dentistry, gold in every filling
Cut 'em a deal bet they let you bring the crills in
No English, kill mad kitchen knives concealed in
The staircase is where we earn the degree
The lawsuits on the fine flesh feeding the fiend
Light Caesar-covered skull
Eyes are like the ocean blue
Stay fly, rock Elvis, that's emotional
Nice shirt, crazy hat, mean jacket
Orange drugs if you're reppin' for the team clappin'
With the capillaries, big gun, Tackleberry
Tell the preacher at the chapel get the casket ready
Two seven's hit the third one on the river
Chicken liver dinner have your Jewish mother sitting shiva
'Cause the kid was a putz
Hit the clutch, spin the tires 'til they smoke disappear into the dust, uh
Dive in the muff break the pussy like an Asian cookie
You the type to shave your face to make your anus bushy
Tie a knot in your shirt right by your stomach
You make me wanna vomit, steady getting blunted
The diesel sweet and sour, the blunt vanilla
Twist it to perfection, gentle hands, still a guerrilla
I'm at the villa, '97 D'elegance
The Pelican Brief, you rapping with irrelevance
Hard to kill, call me Mason Storm
Your basic elevate my skills to the type of shit that Gracie's on
Omaplata, guard your nose, Haloti Ngata
Total knocker, seldom sipping Stoli Vodka
Making maneuvers for myself out on a late night
The year been great right? Trying to get the plate right
'Cause I'm a hunter like a great white
And a performer, never stage fright
I'm outta Flushing, Queens
Shoot your gun if you love the smell of money
Love the taste of good weed, vintage in your tummy
Love a bitch with good puss diggin' in her bunny
Peace to gettin' money, peace to gettin' money
Yeah, Flushing, Queens, outdoorsmen shit
Yeah, Action Statik Selektah shit
Kill yourself now
Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher
Cirque du Soleil Lyrics as written by Ariyan Arslani
Lyrics © Reservoir Media Management, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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