Race Fuel in the Air

[Verse 1]
Quarter tank
Quarter life
Two-lane twist through the corn at night
Mailbox blur and a cracked white line
Old square body
Heartbeat high
Rust on the door
But the cams still talk
CB buzzing
We idle and stalk
Yellow line fever
Knuckles gone pale
Green sign flashes
We hammer that tail
[Chorus]
Race fuel in the air
Wisconsin back roads dare us
To hit it
To hit it again
Tire smoke in my hair
American muscle tearing
Right out of the frame we’re in
Race fuel in the air
And I don’t wanna breathe anything else
[Verse 2]
Farmhouse glow in the rearview glass
Gravel kicks up like a shotgun blast
Buddy in the seat screaming
"Don’t you lift!"
Speedo pinned
But we’re chasing a drift
County road curve
We’re a prayer from the ditch
Fence posts flicker
Every shadow a twitch
But that V8 growl says trust the slide
If this is dumb
Then I’m dumb for life
[Chorus]
Race fuel in the air
Wisconsin back roads dare us
To hit it
To hit it again
Tire smoke in my hair
American muscle tearing
Right out of the frame we’re in
Race fuel in the air
And I don’t wanna breathe anything else
[Bridge]
Headlights gone
Just the moon on the hood (oh-oh)
Every wrong turn somehow feels good
If we burn out young on this midnight run
Tell ’em we were laughing
Tell ’em we were gone
[Chorus]
Race fuel in the air
Wisconsin back roads dare us
To hit it
To hit it again
Tire smoke in my hair
American muscle tearing
Right out of the frame we’re in
Race fuel in the air
Yeah
Race fuel in the air
And I don’t wanna breathe anything else

rock, Crunchy alternative rock with overdriven guitars, tight drums, and male vocals; verses ride a mid-tempo, chugging groove that lets the images breathe, then the chorus slams in with wider chords, stacked gang shouts, and a lifted melody. Bass locks hard with the kick for a driving feel, and a short, feedback-soaked guitar break after the second chorus gives room for headbanging before a big, shout-along final hook., alternative rock