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!