| Let’s hit the interstate
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| With a call sign like that, girl, you’ll never want to return
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| Let’s pull over all the silencers we find, and put them in
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| A locked un-American standard
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| A hurtling ball across the freeway midline:
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| «I didn’t mean to wreck your van, man
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| I only want to take it to the center of the Marshall Plan.»
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| I want to drive
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| I want to pilot
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| And put it down
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| Let’s put the state in a lockdown crisis
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| I’m over wheels now
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| My eyes were never gouged
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| They were injured
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| New York state!
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| The DMV cries
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| Where’s your pile of illegal telescopics to abuse?
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| If Fresnel ever lived, he’d approve
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| What else did he live for?
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| But wait- he loved, just like anyone else!
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| He had a heart, and a stomach, and a knee, and a blinker
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| And his own soul tripod
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| The turnpike’s one lane in Agony Court
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| A longitudinal wave impacts your fort
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| But Fresnel, my good man, you’ve done much for our time
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| The world’s undersea links, and the internet
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| And I drive |