He’s honking loud at half past three,

headlights blazing straight at me.

The door swings wide, I step inside,

his crazy eyes – this won’t be a ride.

He tears through town without a care,

red lights mean go when he is there.

He grins and shifts into despair,

my stomach sends a silent prayer.

Just pull over, we want to live,

this cab’s got nothing left to give.

Heads are spinning, faces pale,

this taxi trip’s a motion fail.

Just pull over, hear our cries –

this is not a scenic ride!

Every corner, every turn,

makes our insides twist and churn.

He brags about his racing days,

"Did rally once!" – we drift in haze.

He laughs, we’re dying in our seat,

my breakfast sounds a swift retreat.

The grandma’s gasping, white as chalk,

the guy behind me starts to squawk.

I pray to every cabbie lord:

"Let me out – I’ll pay you more!"

And if you think you’ve met your end,

just ride with him – don’t bring a friend.

The city blurs into a streak,

we want off now – we’re feeling weak.

Just pull over, we want to live,

this cab’s got nothing left to give.

Heads are spinning, faces pale,

this taxi trip’s a motion fail.

Just pull over, hear our cries –

this is not a scenic ride!

Every corner, every turn,

makes our insides twist and churn.