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Desmond Carter

Herbert Desmond Carter (15 June 1895 – 3 February 1939) was a British lyricist who worked with George and Ira Gershwin, Ivor Novello, and others, and also wrote one of the first English language versions of the notorious "suicide song", "Gloomy Sunday". He was born in Bristol. In 1924 he wrote most of the lyrics for the London musical Primrose, for which Gershwin wrote the music, his first commission outside the US. The musical was revived in 2003, when one reviewer wrote: "...by far the most outstanding contribution to Primrose is the comedy lyrics of Desmond Carter, who penned the words to seventeen of the score's twenty-two songs and collaborated with Ira Gershwin on four of the remaining five. Two among them, "Isn't It Horrible What They Did to Mary, Que… more »

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I’m NASCAR gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.
I’m NASCAR gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.

I’m the boss ain’t no ass to be kissing.
Haters get lost with the fast and the quickness.
Don’t play it off, keep it thorough with you niggas.
Niggas soft, don’t hang round them snitches.
Get em off, they’re dropping like mosquitoes. Spray them with the off fineeto.
By the time they hit the ground I touchdown Puerto Rico. Port of Vallarta my new name Rico.
Don’t speak a no Spanish, but I like bread like Italians. I peep through the peephole eye to eye with an African, my sneakers don’t determine who I’m faster than. I’m a NASCAR revving up my engine man. I’m super fast fast fast on these niggas man.

I’m NASCAR gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.
I’m NASCAR gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.

I ain’t always had a job developed the art of working. Always been myself I’m a better and smarter person. I’m a perfectionist, but I’m far from perfect. You ready Fix, yeah I feel like now it’s worth it. I was wishy washy nigga now I’m certain. Ain’t shit gonna stop me till I fulfill my purpose. I’m rabbit fast competition slow as turtles. Bat tat tat tat tat the sound when niggas know it’s murder. Travel light no bags my gun on my person. F*ck around set up camp in a town deserted. If life’s a bitch I f*ck her know it sounds perverted. If you don’t, the next man will that’s how I’m a word it.

I’m NASCAR, gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.
I’m NASCAR, gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.

I’m a fucking NASCAR you niggas hear my engine. Am I moving too fast? Well blame it on the Pistons. All this horsepower, I ain’t ever tripping. Well oiled machine, transmission never slipping. Yeah I’m gifted guess I’m different. They say the next nigga was buddy, I guess I missed it. Occupied with myself, I’m on a Fix trip. Major labels tell you slow down, they want to nit pick. I tell motherfuckers keep watching, call me Netflix. Motherfuckers think they live, I’m a dead shit. Slow pokes way behind, I’m ahead bitch. Bring your shit to a stop. Light’s red bitch.

I’m NASCAR,gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.
I’m NASCAR, gassed up.
High as a rocket in the sky, I’m NASA.
You think you’re fast bitch I’m faster.
Get out my lane, let me past you bastard.

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