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Crashing the one oh one for some deadly fun, we carve a path of pseudo-destruction through the blackened city With four on the floor looking to score, rusted metal color matte, we hurtle merrily along our mad little course While the Techno-Chromatics, all shiny prismatic, flash on through the neon gas And the buzzbombs bombing along going strong with their retro muscles, silver fenders gleaming Up and down the highways sometimes sideways, flying jets of high octane fuel, the anonymous soul's just a blur (c) 2005 geocities.com/kisskat79 All Rights Reserved. |
(c) 2005
geocities.com/kisskat79
All Rights Reserved.