"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.
This life is a game, if you wanna play
Then count all your own mistakes
Livin' it with no delay
So fast I'm getting growing pains
Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane
I go insane, all the problems come with my growing age, blowin' haze
Trying to clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain, I don't complain
But the kid inside me's feeling so restrained, gotta stay golden
Let desire rekindle the flame
Searchin' for the Fountain of Youth, when I'm free in my brain
(Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigger with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
They want a story, a story
I write the shit that I find very amusing
'Cause all the other fuckin' stories are boring
It's really awkward to know, that a bunch of kids do adore me
It's like I fathered these fuckers, so you will find me on Maury
I'm still a kid in my heart, so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experience and shit I see touring
I'm like a birdman, I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this porn
Nope (Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigger with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, Oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Five (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Four (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Three (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Two (Erer-erer-erer)
Where's Tyler?
Bottom of the countdown
Shit ain't been the same since I found out
Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow-Wow
Now I'm the loud, shot, body-styled, foul mouth fucker
That your teenage kid, likes to bow down
Riding around town in Seattle
With the same shotgun that Kurt used to "Click-Clack-Boom-Pow"
Still suicidal, but some assume that I'm cool now
'Cause I got a fucking award in my own room now
Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vow
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little nigger trumpet lose sound
Just let him play
Then count all your own mistakes
Livin' it with no delay
So fast I'm getting growing pains
Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane
I go insane, all the problems come with my growing age, blowin' haze
Trying to clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain, I don't complain
But the kid inside me's feeling so restrained, gotta stay golden
Let desire rekindle the flame
Searchin' for the Fountain of Youth, when I'm free in my brain
(Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigger with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
They want a story, a story
I write the shit that I find very amusing
'Cause all the other fuckin' stories are boring
It's really awkward to know, that a bunch of kids do adore me
It's like I fathered these fuckers, so you will find me on Maury
I'm still a kid in my heart, so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experience and shit I see touring
I'm like a birdman, I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this porn
Nope (Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass?
(Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigger with the trumpets
Marchin' with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve
But his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, Oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto
He's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick
So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Nigga's!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming!
(Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Five (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Four (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Three (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the)
Two (Erer-erer-erer)
Where's Tyler?
Bottom of the countdown
Shit ain't been the same since I found out
Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow-Wow
Now I'm the loud, shot, body-styled, foul mouth fucker
That your teenage kid, likes to bow down
Riding around town in Seattle
With the same shotgun that Kurt used to "Click-Clack-Boom-Pow"
Still suicidal, but some assume that I'm cool now
'Cause I got a fucking award in my own room now
Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vow
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little nigger trumpet lose sound
Just let him play
Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher
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Fast Car
Tracy Chapman
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Page
Ed Sheeran
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Plastic Bag
Ed Sheeran
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“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.