"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.
Cut the music up please
Man
I'm so fucked up, you have no idea
I smoke that La La La, it's music to my ears
All my niggas is wasted, got guns on they waist
She don't use Pro-Active, she put Cum on her face
I'm a real nigga first, I'm a bitch nigga never
Shawty suck me dry, I'm talkin' dry like a dessert
Nigga get off my dick, bitch, get on my level
I don't gas these hoes, take your foot off the pedal
Man, I be on my dick, 'bout to break my neck
Shout Nyjah Huston, Stevie Will, Ryan Sheck'
Papa got the TEC, it can get technical
Pimp shit, never, put the pussy on a pedestal
Niggas out of shape, I'm just bein' geometrical
Tunechi, leave 'em bitches behind like residue
New Orleans, where we turn a funeral into a festival
Young Money, long money, it ain't even measurable
I'm stuntin', uh, like my daddy
She give me neck, uh, Peyton Manning
Yeah, I press a button, uh, and lose my roof
I'm spittin' blood shit like I lost a tooth, uh
I went from sittin' in a cell
To sittin' on a jet
From shittin' in a cell
To shittin' on a jet
I made too much money, I ain't make enough yet
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best
Man, all these bitches and niggas still hatin'
My homies got that weight and I ain't talkin' 'bout patience
Man, we be on some other shit, kidnap your mother shit
And we smoke that strong like the weed got muscles, bitch
I'm Tunechi, got what you need
I got some cocaine and some California weed
Them bitches jockin', niggas hatin', drunk off Gin and Socko
If he keep on talkin' shit, I'll knock the meat out his taco
And I ain't playin', I got killers with me, ain't got no squealers with me
And the back of the milk carton say my ceiling's missing
And now my vision blurry and I'm with kissin' cousins
I'll make 'em rob you masked up, you think them bitches muslims
Scoob filmin' it, smooth criminal
I'ma prince, nigga, you Arsenio
We pick you off and bounce, that's the pick and roll
Crème de la crème, de la criminal
T, where you at? Make the blunt fat
Young Money that special team, run the punt back
Yeah, that's me in that 'Gatti with the hump back
I'll stick my thumb in her pussy with a thumbtack
Sittin' in a cell (Woah)
To sittin' on a jet
From shittin' in a cell
To shittin' on a jet
I lost too many homies and I won too many bets
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best, uh-huh
Uh-huh
Uh-huh
Uh-huh
Man
I'm so fucked up, you have no idea
I smoke that La La La, it's music to my ears
All my niggas is wasted, got guns on they waist
She don't use Pro-Active, she put Cum on her face
I'm a real nigga first, I'm a bitch nigga never
Shawty suck me dry, I'm talkin' dry like a dessert
Nigga get off my dick, bitch, get on my level
I don't gas these hoes, take your foot off the pedal
Man, I be on my dick, 'bout to break my neck
Shout Nyjah Huston, Stevie Will, Ryan Sheck'
Papa got the TEC, it can get technical
Pimp shit, never, put the pussy on a pedestal
Niggas out of shape, I'm just bein' geometrical
Tunechi, leave 'em bitches behind like residue
New Orleans, where we turn a funeral into a festival
Young Money, long money, it ain't even measurable
I'm stuntin', uh, like my daddy
She give me neck, uh, Peyton Manning
Yeah, I press a button, uh, and lose my roof
I'm spittin' blood shit like I lost a tooth, uh
I went from sittin' in a cell
To sittin' on a jet
From shittin' in a cell
To shittin' on a jet
I made too much money, I ain't make enough yet
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best
Man, all these bitches and niggas still hatin'
My homies got that weight and I ain't talkin' 'bout patience
Man, we be on some other shit, kidnap your mother shit
And we smoke that strong like the weed got muscles, bitch
I'm Tunechi, got what you need
I got some cocaine and some California weed
Them bitches jockin', niggas hatin', drunk off Gin and Socko
If he keep on talkin' shit, I'll knock the meat out his taco
And I ain't playin', I got killers with me, ain't got no squealers with me
And the back of the milk carton say my ceiling's missing
And now my vision blurry and I'm with kissin' cousins
I'll make 'em rob you masked up, you think them bitches muslims
Scoob filmin' it, smooth criminal
I'ma prince, nigga, you Arsenio
We pick you off and bounce, that's the pick and roll
Crème de la crème, de la criminal
T, where you at? Make the blunt fat
Young Money that special team, run the punt back
Yeah, that's me in that 'Gatti with the hump back
I'll stick my thumb in her pussy with a thumbtack
Sittin' in a cell (Woah)
To sittin' on a jet
From shittin' in a cell
To shittin' on a jet
I lost too many homies and I won too many bets
So I scratch, and yes, junior is the best, uh-huh
Uh-huh
Uh-huh
Uh-huh
Lyrics submitted by herbertweezy
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Fast Car
Tracy Chapman
Tracy Chapman
Dreamwalker
Silent Planet
Silent Planet
I think much like another song “Anti-Matter” (that's also on the same album as this song), this one is also is inspired by a horrifying van crash the band experienced on Nov 3, 2022. This, much like the other track, sounds like it's an extension what they shared while huddled in the wreckage, as they helped frontman Garrett Russell stem the bleeding from his head wound while he was under the temporary effects of a concussion. The track speaks of where the mind goes at the most desperate & desolate of times, when it just about slips away to all but disconnect itself, and the aftermath.
Gentle Hour
Yo La Tengo
Yo La Tengo
This song was originally written by a guy called Peter Gutteridge. He was one of the founders of the "Dunedin Sound" a musical scene in the south of New Zealand in the early 80s. From there it was covered by "The Clean" one of the early bands of that scene (he had originally been a member of in it's early days, writing a couple of their best early songs). The Dunedin sound, and the Clean became popular on american college radio in the mid to late 80s. I guess Yo La Tengo heard that version.
Great version of a great song,
Just A Little Lovin'
Dusty Springfield
Dusty Springfield
I don't think it's necessarily about sex. It's about wanting to start the day with some love and affection. Maybe a warm cuddle. I'm not alone in interpreting it that way! For example:
"'Just a Little Lovin’ is a timeless country song originally recorded by Eddy Arnold in 1954. The song, written by Eddie Miller and Jimmy Campbell, explores the delicate nuances of love and showcases Arnold’s emotive vocals. It delves into the universal theme of love and how even the smallest gesture of affection can have a profound impact on our lives." https://oldtimemusic.com/the-meaning-behind-the-song-just-a-little-lovin-by-eddy-arnold/
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.