Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Drive , by - El-P. Song from the album I'll Sleep When You're Dead, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 05.12.2019
Record label: Fat Possum, Producto Mart
Song language: English
Drive |
| 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’mma 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 |
| 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!» |
| 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 |
| These TV 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 his 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 CB radio like «10/4 good buddy» |
| I’ll keep running the track |
| Even when muddy |
| 'Cause my insurance don’t cover leaving behind the pit crew that love me |
| So I drive |
| 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 |