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My self righteous road rage, somehow metamorphosed into a chilled loungey crooner track. In this chapter I detail how I wrote the song on my bike, and how that chord change works.
Many cold hard facts about how cars are beastly and awful in almost all respects are wheeled out. Mike Trollfield, a car owner, chooses instead to focus his rage on offensive words. Or rather the fact that some people are declaring perfectly normal words to now be offensive. It seems he is trying to get me sacked. Perhaps this alter-ego is out of control already.
Lyrics
Those cunts in their cars,
those cunts in their cars,
they sit there for hours,
those cunts in their cars.
Those obnoxious pricks,
sit stuck in traffic,
what gives them the right
to fill my lungs with shite?
Those cunts in their cars,
they think they’re rock stars,
sat on their fat arse
going nowhere fast.
Why can’t they admit
that their vehicle’s shit?
Stop clogging our streets,
use your fucking feet.
The more that you buy the more you’re oppressed
They’ll sell you freedom ‘till there’s no more left.
Those automobiles
forever stood still.
They look like such cocks
trapped in their steel box.
I cruise past on my bike,
I can do what I like.
Yes I’m feeling great
whilst they put on weight.
You’ve seen through the scam
You know that it’s dark
You want to stop driving
But there’s nowhere to park
Cunts in their cars
How long will it last
Till things of the past
Are cunts in their cars