King Of The Road.
Where are you going in such a rush?
I guess I’ll know, sooner or later.
Closing a deal on the phone, about dinner with your Mum.
Too important to use an indicator.
Speeding like you have an F1 pit crew,
Poised and ready at your personal trackside.
Get your pedal to the metal, quick,
To be the first with his nose up the bosses backside.
Don’t you worry about the queuing traffic,
You can hide behind your Lacoste jumper.
Just stare straight ahead and keep pushing in.
Whipping off the occasional poor car’s bumper.
You’ve been doing lines all weekend.
Coke, from Friday to late night Sunday.
You’ve had quite enough of lines now though,
As you park across the disabled bay, first thing Monday.
“You’ll have to move! I’ve got a meeting!”
You shout at the petrol tanker.
Eyebrow raised, middle finger cocked,
He mouths the words “You wanker”.
You just carry on driving upon my bumper
You’re a moron, but please, don’t let it trouble you.
We all know what we should be expecting,
When in our mirror, we see B-M-W.