Get Low, Get Low, Get Low, And Get Low!
The smell of gasoline is like a sweet perfume.
Tantalizing, sweet, it draws me in.
Sitting in there I am invincible.
Tires screech, the road rips and it has begun.
The road is my kingdom, those fans; my subjects.
The stick shift is my scepter and I am ready to crowned king.
Those cowards think they can take my prize from me.
They are sadly mistaken; I was born for this, to win, not to lose.
I fall behind; those chumps think that they have me!
With a flick of my finger I am neck and neck for the lead, the
Other two lost in the dust somewhere.
A wide turn throws me into the lead, a happy, perhaps wild smirk on my lips.
I'm cocky like that, but who gave a shit? Certainly not me. That's what matters.
Then the show really starts, we are so close to the finish line.
It's time to kick up a notch.
My baby's revved and ready to serve; she's beautiful and just as sore of a loser as I.
As if moving in one motion, that silver Skyline and I creep neck and neck with the red beast.
Finale.
Bridge raised, adrenaline pumping, I know there is a sack of dough on the other side waiting.
The beast creeps ahead, I shift up one more time.
Fire trails his exhaust; moron. It's too early.
I bite my lip, excitement in my eyes as I burst forward.
Blue eyes intent, everything about me steady yet anxious. I want to win, I need to win.
Crash, Bang, Thump
The other beast skids out of control; what a fool. He's not fit to be a jester.
With a loud whoop I am king. This was a simple coronation task.
A voice compliments me on my speed.
I laugh, I'd better be fast. They don't call me Bullet for nothing.
Get Low, Get Low, Get Low, And Get Low!
