Artist: El-P Album: I'll Sleep When You're Dead Song: Drive Typed by: ralfiparpa@gmail.com C'mon, ma, can I borrow the keys? My generation is carpooling with doom and disease Buckle up, skipper The new american Asterix You're riding shotty with Jesus of Nascar-eth At the end of the day, we all sittin' on 24s 365 horses, no horseshit With nothing but a learning permit Delinquents on the autobahn poppin' our airbags off the worthless I'm not depressed, man I'm just a fucking New Yorker Who knows that sittin' in traffic with these bastards is torture I'll be in a jalopy with a mami getting head rest And howl at the glowing moon roof as proof that I'm not dead yet And y'all can all give me the hummer 'Cause in the meantime, I'ma pimp this ride like fly formula one-er This is the El-Product summer With a gleam of factory gun metal sheen grey and no vin number (Chorus) Drive, Drive, Drive Hopped in the hooptie screaming "freedom is mine!" Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive Bumpin' the tune I so conveniently provide Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive Don't have to be flashy, I'll use any old ride Drive, Drive, Drive, Drive Hop in the whip and peel away, stay alive Cars slide by with the booming system Like New York is Fallujah with metal gear using christians Posted up for the gods of oil mining In a military humvee with no bullet proof siding (sorry, guys) Brooklyn, baby I'm waterlocked walkin' nervous When the curfew was imposed closing transportational service This gonzomatic fear turns me Hunter S. Thompson With my lawyer leaning over the side view mirror vomiting You call 'em windows, I call 'em asbestos lesseners For this wheezing in my chest I'll need more than fucking air fresheners There ain't no easy pass Hands on the dash You'll get rocked in casba if the movement's too fast Here come the cannon balls, run Get in your gremlin The days of thunder's creepin' up sooner than you expected Paranoid brethren disable their onstar knowing they'll trace us Pull us over and shout "get out le car!" (Chorus) These thugs got the heart of Herbie the Luv Bug It don't take a speed racing mind to see that they're just stuck I'll wrap your promo truck with a nambla stencil to prove that you're fucking babies Frontin' up in a rental I knew a kid who navigated it slippery And fuel injected a speed ball on hs way to Atlantic City Out the race before even making his mark And now he'll never pick his shit up out of long term parking My triple A card has one too many initials And autobot on the fringe of liquid addiction spinning fish-tails About to careen on some toonces shit off the cliff But love of the sport of racing is keeping me out of coffins Camu was like "fuck it, just keep the beats dirty dusty" I grabbed the CD radio like "10/4 good buddy" I'll keep running the track Even when muddy 'Cause my insurance don't cover leaving the pit crew that love me So I drive (Chorus)