.
They say the City of Angels was built for cars,
From Beverly Hills to movie sets,
To all night bars.
Wherever you're going, wherever you've been,
You can climb onboard, in my white limousine,
Set yourself free,
Leave the rules of the road and the wheel to me.
I'll hit the heights, chauffeur the stars,
On glamorous nights, in this valley of cars...
A photo feature in a car magazine,
That's me standing...
By my white limousine.
Now there's a roar in the air, cause it's a jungle out there,
They cut from the left, cross from the right,
They just don't care.
The freeway's jamming, I shouldn't have got on,
A traffic reporter says the off ramp's gone,
It's days like this,
I roll down the window and I shake my fist.
He might have been famous, he must have been rich,
The rings on his fingers, the Jag in the ditch...
They took his pulse, they whisked him away,
By helicopter...
But he was DOA.
I got a phone at my head, a yellow light ahead,
I step on the gas, cause time is cash,
And burn that red.
This lane's for passing, get out of my lane,
I'm coming in fast, like a hell-bound train,
The day will come,
When I roll down the window and wave my gun.
An eighteen-wheeler, up on Highway 3,
A limousine driver, on a cocaine spree...
Woke up this morning in a terrible dream,
The world has come crashing...
On my white limousine.
There's trouble in this, trouble in this,
Too much trouble now to get it fixed,
Too much trouble now.
Too much trouble now to get it fixed,
Too much trouble now.
Yeah, there's trouble in this.
Written and performed by Ron Renaud aka Ripplingmoon
Ray Garand plays electric guitars
Copyright 1999-2023 Ron Renaud
They say the City of Angels was built for cars,
From Beverly Hills to movie sets,
To all night bars.
Wherever you're going, wherever you've been,
You can climb onboard, in my white limousine,
Set yourself free,
Leave the rules of the road and the wheel to me.
I'll hit the heights, chauffeur the stars,
On glamorous nights, in this valley of cars...
A photo feature in a car magazine,
That's me standing...
By my white limousine.
Now there's a roar in the air, cause it's a jungle out there,
They cut from the left, cross from the right,
They just don't care.
The freeway's jamming, I shouldn't have got on,
A traffic reporter says the off ramp's gone,
It's days like this,
I roll down the window and I shake my fist.
He might have been famous, he must have been rich,
The rings on his fingers, the Jag in the ditch...
They took his pulse, they whisked him away,
By helicopter...
But he was DOA.
I got a phone at my head, a yellow light ahead,
I step on the gas, cause time is cash,
And burn that red.
This lane's for passing, get out of my lane,
I'm coming in fast, like a hell-bound train,
The day will come,
When I roll down the window and wave my gun.
An eighteen-wheeler, up on Highway 3,
A limousine driver, on a cocaine spree...
Woke up this morning in a terrible dream,
The world has come crashing...
On my white limousine.
There's trouble in this, trouble in this,
Too much trouble now to get it fixed,
Too much trouble now.
Too much trouble now to get it fixed,
Too much trouble now.
Yeah, there's trouble in this.
Written and performed by Ron Renaud aka Ripplingmoon
Ray Garand plays electric guitars
Copyright 1999-2023 Ron Renaud