Car Crash For A Soul by Miss Black America
Skilled, professional teams have created,
In magnificent sweatshops,
This gold-plated plastic gangster
With a car crash for a soul
Keep the motor running
Let the good times roll
On over the precipice
My life came flat-packed
Inside, it's falling to pieces
But the surface remains intact
At the drive-in with a car crash for a soul
You call this a party?
It feels like a funeral
And we thought we'd died alone
These braindead functions never felt like fun
And now's the time for us to say,
"If we're gonna crash, they're gonna pay"
Yeah, yeah
Tonight we shine so bright
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