Lights Out

by SouthPawRacer

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Wonder why, on a manual formation lap
Tension’s always off tap, keeping an eye on the track map
Clean start or bust, a wary mind is a must
How many blokes around me can I trust?

Two by two, lining up as you do
But somebody stopped a bit short, hey bitch, get a clue
I did a burnout pulling up to my spot
Tyres are just sitting static, I'm in no mood to play hot or not

They got their shit together, now I pose the question whether
Turn 1 will be clean or if I'll end up getting my head severed
Two possibilities: we get through with some minor hits
Or we end up dealing with some apocalyptic type shit

You know, your typical online racing growing pains
Not so much “Fallout” as “There Will Come Soft Rains”
But even to Bradbury we'd be taking the piss
We'd need to get R. R. Martin on board to ghost write this

I mean, I should be chilling, making a killing
Heart rate shoots up, ain't exactly thrilling
Remind myself it's just a bunch of shaded polygons
And then the lights come on


As the kids these days say, it's getting fuckin' lit
Five times horizontally, to be clear about it
Just keep it cool like the engine temp, keep that diminished
And I won't smoke it when the lights are finally extinguished

Lights out and away we go
Less wheelspin? Do a Picard and make it so
I flow through the gears, blood sweat and tears, slow car appears
My worst fears, swerving with my front just avoiding his rear

Control my inputs as I follow the pole sitter
I take avoiding action but I keep it out the kitty litter
Haven't made contact with anybody just yet
But that depends on how bad my connection gets

It's like trying to control a hyperactive kid
The SCP Foundation has it classed as “Euclid”
But it'll be over soon, darkness before the dawn
That is unless the guy beside me doesn't care to withdraw


He's creeping over with no spacial awareness
And in the braking zone he shifts side to side rather careless
Drilling into my peripheral despite it being costly
And that's when you lost me, motherfucker trying to cross me

I'm getting jostled, mashed up like a potato
And I get rear ended so hard just call me Jason Plato
I'll correct a bit, turn in, it's a tight fit
Apex is beckoning but some cunt behind me goes and kamikazes it


Thanks you chucklefuck
Now I'm in the gravel trap and in a wall I am stuck
What is the reason I so violently left the road?
Look at the replay, rewind a bit, fucking netcode


released January 19, 2017
Lyrics, production and album art by Rhys Gardiner.

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Rhys Gardiner Perth, Australia

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