Settle all of your old scores, an oblong Ferrari to set the men entirely from the boys
Toy with their everything, quite literally
Pitted with your fastidiously ego-centric gear box, an inability to cold shoulder the blame for a racing-stripe taste like none other
Weather this goddamn storm all of the way over, let everyone right back in
The thinnest wheels in the whole wide world, albeit absurd degrees of longevity, an absurd inability to slow this pace
Label-faced and all too proud of it
Now is your high time to shine, our boy – absolute red seems to just want to run through every single last bit
Grit your teeth and go…

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