Yeah. It’s funny, you know? You grow up with the posters on the wall... Thinking it’s all about the drive. But nowadays, it’s just about everything else. Uh. [Verse 1] I remember staring at the magazine spreads, Now I’m staring at the invoice, shaking my head. Inflation hit the rubber, now the tires are gold, And the "project car" dream is getting dusty and old. I wanted a Supra, maybe an R 3 2, But the market went crazy, tell me what am I to do? Six figures for a shell that’s been sitting in the rain? The entry price for passion is a lifetime of pain. I’m working 9 to 5 just to buy a set of wheels, But the landlord wants his cut and the gas pump steals. It’s a rich man’s game in a working man’s heart, Getting priced out the culture before I even start. [Chorus] And it’s hard just to breathe in the smog of it all, Waiting for the weekend just to hit a brick wall. The gauges are climbing, the wallet is thin, In a world built against us, how do we win? Just a man and his machine, trying to find some peace, But the peace is expensive and the pressures never cease. [Verse 2] Then you pull up to the meet, looking for a vibe, But it’s all clout-chasing, trying to describe A lifestyle they don’t live, it’s a theater of parts, Carbon fiber stickers hiding hollowed-out hearts. The "fakers" on the ‘gram with the rented-out whips, Doing donuts for the likes while the real culture slips. And the media? Man, they just feed the fire, Telling kids that a build is just something you hire. No grease on the knuckles, no scars on the hands, Just a "content creator" with a "brand" and some fans. If it’s not for the camera, did it even happen? I’m just trying to hear the turbo, I don’t care about the rappin’. [Verse 3] And don't get me started on the blue in the mirror, Every time I shift gear, the anxiety gets clearer. Stock exhaust popping? That’s a "nuisance" to them, Looking at my hood like I’m some kind of gem— In a bad way. A target. A fine on four plates, While the actual criminals are opening the gates. I’m just cruising at midnight, clearing my mind, But the law thinks a spoiler means I’m falling behind On my "social duties." Man, give me a break, It’s the only thing that keeps me from a mental mistake. Modified is vilified, the streets are getting cold, They want us all in "appliance" cars, doing what we’re told. [Bridge] They want the electric, they want the autonomous, The soul of the engine is becoming anonymous. No manual shifts, no mechanical feel, Just a screen in the dash and a fake-leather wheel. I’m holding on tight to a dying breed, In a world that forgot what we actually need. [Outro] Yeah. It’s getting harder to love it. Between the bills, the badges, and the fakers... I just want to drive. Is that too much to ask? Just... one clean road. No cameras. No sirens. Just me.

Idle Dreams