[Intro] Stranded in the radiated big empty... our ride just gave up the ghost. Vexa’s already scheming the next play. Jara’s glaring like the van personally betrayed her. Vacation? Yeah… it’s on now. [Verse 1] Dust spins wild on cracked black-top, signs bleached ghost-white Hover-van chokes, coughs smoke, then flatlines dead quiet Blonde kicks the panel, grins "This junk was cute… yesterday" Quiet one shoulders rifle case, eyes sweep the empty sky [Verse 2] Headlights carve ochre haze, pink chrome fins slicing night Three silver queens roll up in a glossy chrome speedster tight Windows down, vintage synth blasting, laughter cuts the dust "Hop in, cuties! Before the rad-worms start to lust!" they trust [Verse 3] Blonde claims shotgun, trades war-stories, eyes lit like fresh code Grannies drop bombs – cuffs in cabs, chrome under moonlight load One leans in "We ran dice with Ironhand, owned every strip" Back seat stays locked, counting breaths, patience on a trip [Pre-Chorus] She pries more dirt, sparkles wicked, hacks the vibe alive Jaw grinds tighter, fuse burning, barely holding five Old queens chamber plasma – wait, bingo’s got bite? Bandit dust boils up fast – party’s turning fight [Chorus 1] When the van dies in the endless radiated sprawl Vacation? Ha! What a glorious fall One glitch – bingo queens pack heat, roll in Hitchin’ straight chaos, Data Hit! [Chorus 2] When bandits smell easy prey in the dusk Grannies laugh "Let’s school these clowns, no fuss!" One glitch – crosshairs lock, red dots spread We flip the whole game, Data Hit! [Bridge] Vexa laughs "They used to run dice with Ironhand’s old crew, choom" Jara mutters low "May the signal burn clean through every false chrome god" Engines roar, circle closes, thinking fresh meat on chrome But queens pop trunks, glow-rigs out, manic grins full-blown She floods comms with glitch-porn loops – total screaming storm Scope girl steps through dust, ponytail cracks, aim ice-cold form One breath, clean sweeps – bandits crumple like bad bets, gone [Outro] "Best damn detour ever. These queens are legends." "…Next time we fly straight." Quiet chuckle overlap: "Or we jack something faster. Way faster."
