. .
Whoever painted lines on the road
never seen me using a crayon.
I'm a color outside the lines kind-of-a-guy,
because there's no line I will stay on.
I'm a turn 'round, burn 'em down;
shake the ground kind-of-a-guy.
This car don't have wings,
but I'll prove that these horses can fly.
Yeah, my car is so cool,
I'd say it's a safe bet
that her passengers would never say,
"Hey, are we there yet?"
Coming to a stop
only causes frustration.
Because it's all about the ride,
never the destination.
I'll just take my chances
when her engine starts to glow.
If my crayon starts meltin',
she'll still giddy up, go.
Because it's all about the ride,
never the destination.
Coming to a stop
only causes her frustration.
You would swear you heard thunder,
it's just me ready to explode.
Give me my crayons and my accelerator,
and we will paint the open road.
I'm a turn 'round, burn 'em down;
shake the ground kind-of-a-guy.
This car don't have wings,
but I'll prove that these horses could fly.
Yeah, my car is so cool,
I'd say it's a safe bet
her passengers would never say,
"Hey, are we there yet?"
Coming to a stop
only causes her frustration.
Because it's all about the ride,
never the destination.
Because it's all about the ride,
never the destination.
Coming to a stop
only causes her frustration.
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