(Verse 1)
Yo—
It’s not a car, it’s a war cry,
Rolling down the street like it’s doomsday sci-fi.
Chrome dome ego with a jet-black heart,
Bulletproof shell, but it’s fear in the art.

(Chorus)
This ain’t design, it’s retreat on wheels,
Armored delusion with apocalypse feels.
Window cracked? Nah, that’s a mirror you broke—
You can’t see the world through a billionaire’s smoke.

(Verse 2)
Cyber what? Cyber why?
Just a lie you can drive, made to privatize the sky.
A fortress for one, no room for the rest,
Just torque, tech, and trauma in a Kevlar vest.

(Chorus)
The city ain’t a battleground, bro—
You built a tank for a pothole.
You flex “innovation,” but where’s the soul?
It’s a four-ton ghost in a half-baked role.

(Verse 3)
You talkin’ freedom?
That’s a rich man’s joke.
Can’t pedal through town, but you cruise while we choke.
A street full of ‘Trucks is a funeral line,
Every turn signals mine, not thine.

(Chorus)
It’s a myth with wheels and a charge in its spine,
But the grid can’t hold, and the dream’s not mine.
Escape ain’t a plan, it’s a panic attack,
You’re not building the future—you’re just falling back.

(Verse 4)
No passenger seat for the commons you stole,
No turning radius for a generous soul.
No cradle, no commons, no kin in your map—
Just range, raw metal, and a libertarian trap.

(Outro)
So roll on, exile—see where it ends,
You’ll be king of the road with no lands, no friends.
While we build slow futures in gardens and dust,
You’ll be revving regret under oxidized rust.

Yeah—
My other dumpster is a Cybertruck.
But I don’t drive grief. I compost it.