I Don’t Brake for BMW’s

I wrote all three verses of this wish-fulfillment ditty while stuck in traffic, driving into Dallas.

I can see you hanging on my bumper.
Very clearly in my rearview mirror.
Bet your car’s an engineering wonder
Bet you’re drinking wine instead of beer.
I can see you feeling so superior
Those turning heads are swelling you with pride
But don’t you know that beautiful exterior
Cannot hide the jerk who sits inside?

CHORUS
I don’t brake for BMW’s
It don’t matter how much dough you’ve got, got, got.
I don’t brake for BMW’s
So think twice before you cut me off

Bet you’ve got an income in six figures
I can see it written on your grill
Bet that everything you own is bigger
Than anything that I ever will
Bet you got a private club to golf in.
If you had a private road, you’d ride that, too.
But then you’d miss the pleasure of watching
Everyone just wishing they was you.

Now you’re moving over to the fast lane
Picking up a little bit of speed.
Then, suddenly, you make another lane change,
Just a couple feet in front of me.
Now, I can see your finely detailed paint job,
Quality I never could afford, Ford, Ford, Ford.
You sure make me feel like a poor slob.
You sure make me glad I ain’t insured.

Words and music © 1995 by Steve Brooks and Frog Records
(512) 440-7668
[email protected]
www.stevebrooks.net

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