I'll swerve in to the path of your lane,
your words are never enough
             to make me hit the hard shoulder.


I'll 911 your **** into the submission,
     you'll never swerve by..

I'll make you,

        barrel roll in to the suburbs
                          and
                          you watch....

With a pipe
                       and smoke, submit to my rule.


You'll never drive your words like my rules,
                          Irregular rhyme,
  that the wheel will lose its traction...
                                and you'll lose,
        the tread of the road..

Only the tarmac holds the tread of decent,
                      wording that doesn't slip...

You cant hold any traction on the words that
                drive faster than anything you try...


                                to grip beyond the first red light.

I'm green but I run faster then anything
        that you have in park..

              you'll try to rev, but you stall before
         I've even passed you on a repeat...
                                  repeat
                                                    repeating
the same round,
                    That you were playing when I
started this course,

                                    but you haven't even started.

Just park up,
                  you haven't got the petrol to race my words.
                            your engines  already stalled...