You remind me of my bimmer
A lot of trunk space, the perfect two seater
You got a lot of drive I'm trying to keep up

But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter

You remind me of my bimmer

See your ignition, baby girl I'm trying to key up
And your head lights are off I'm trying to see 'em
But it's not a lot of miles on ya meter

So let me start it up and smash it

Pop some Tame Impala, your man got a lame impala

And it's dark outside
And I'm sharing slurpees and you ain't even begin to swallow
Oooooooo

You're $#&@ing nuts, green top we coupled up
Run my fingers through em as you wax and buff my muffler


Cause I fingered you, you think the $#&@ing ring is coming up?
Oooooooo
Maybe, I don't know, I think you're chill

Ride for
Riding on my pegs, and my back against your legs
And a seatbelt is needed if I get between 'em, yeah