The asphalt’s cold tonight, colder than it used to be. I remember when the air smelled like high-octane and brotherhood. Now it just smells like... desperation. Digital ghosts in a physical world. I remember the 2:00 AM meets at the back of the lot Before the clout-chasers found the secret spot. We didn't have cameras, we didn't have "feeds" Just a handful of tools and the parts that we’d need. You earned your respect by the grease on your palms By the way that your engine sang beautiful psalms. Now I pull up and it’s all for the ‘Gram Widebody kits built for "likes" and the scam. Nobody’s tuning, they’re just checking their views While the soul of the culture is front-page news. Where did the heartbeat go? It’s buried under filters and the status quo. We’re paying the price for the lies that you sold While the engines we loved are all turning to gold. You want the aesthetic, but you don't want the drive You’re killing the feeling of being alive. The neon is flickering, the streets are so quiet The passion is gone, it’s a digital riot. Look, They walk in the showroom, they point at the sticker The faster the upload, the ego gets thicker. They don’t know a piston from a spark plug wire But they’re lighting the scene on a funeral pyre. Prices are peaking, the market is broken Because some influencer had a word to be spoken. Now the kid with the dream and the rusty old frame Can’t afford a single bolt thanks to your little game. You’re parking it up, you’re chasing the fame You don't even know your own chassis’ name. It’s "Aesthetic," it’s "Vibes," it’s a "Clean Build" tag But your hood never opens—that’s a massive red flag. We built it for us, you built it for them You’re the dirt on the surface, we’re the uncut gem. I miss the sound of the midnight run Before the ego eclipsed the sun. The genuine ones are hiding away Waiting for the circus to leave the bay. Is it worth it? All the followers in the world... Can’t replace the feeling of a perfect shift. Yeah, I see you tagging the brands that you don't even use Fishing for sponsors while we’re paying our dues. The tracks are all closing, the cops are on high Because you’re doing donuts for a "reels" reply. You ruined the spots where we used to be safe Now the real enthusiasts are stuck in a strafe. Crying "gatekeeper" when we call out the fake But you’re the ones putting our culture at stake. Take your ring light, take your gimbal and go The streets don't want you, and the streets already know. The car scene didn't die, it just went underground. Far away from the noise and the digital sound. We’re still out there, under the bridge at night. Keeping the ghost of the asphalt alight. No cameras. No clout. Just the drive. (Fade out with the sound of a turbo spooling and a long, distant exhaust note.)

The Ghost of The Roads