I just want to fly through the streets, like a Kawasaki, it could be a competition on a triumph over the open road. Dirt bikes and Harleys, BMW's of the name's, to crank the gas is to call me by my name. The sound of the motor is my pied Piper & I'm trying to get way away. Where striped white lines in the street become solid. Where we sway your hips like salsa weaving through the traffic driving through Lanes, dipping like rabbits avoiding the grave.

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E viața mea

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Everywhere

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