Ride $#&@ing free, forty below,
it's the car that kills the punk.
Pedal for momentum, feel the $#&@ing vibe,

blaze through traffic, burn the red, push my luck.

There's not much I need, I ride a single speed,

my toque and mitts protect me from the freeze.

Hadron Collision.

I'm ripping through a cloud of exhaust.
A $#&@ing conniption,
in their cages on wheels they $#&@ing rot.


And I might be trapped in a world going backwards
but nothing's in vain -

right now I'm happy just to clog up your lane.

There's not much I need, I'll leave you with your greed

to wallow in your %#@! 'til you can't breathe.

A head-on collision,

a species that's lost all control.
We'll learn by extinction:
we don't need all that %#@! we've been sold.


And we might be headed to the brink of disaster
but nothing's in vain -

right now I'm happy just to clog up your lane.

If all that I can do

is just stay on the move,
keep a few cents from your grasp -
that's all I need to prove.


I'll see you on the bus. It's the car that kills the punk.