(or, suv protest song #3)      Oh, out into the races   Oh, out into the cold   Where the cars look like bad belly dancers   They try to get a hold of me      But I move to the side   Back and forth between I glide   Using moves they've never seen   In my metal death machine      Relaxing later in my seat   Warming myself with the heat   I remember previous mistakes   I become the thing I hate      I got time to waste   I got my own blue place   You can keep your flutes and snakes   More metal saves      Protect protect myself   A suit of armor for my health   A nut in a nutshell of metal   Everyone else is expendable I guess   They are buried in my pedals      Now I'm moving to the side   Back and forth between I glide   Using moves they've never seen   I drive my metal death machine