[sole violin]
{[footsteps on gravel]}
{[old jalopy ford car engine starting]}
{[old timey pistol firing]}
{[tires screeching]}
{[police siren sounds]}
[gruff male voice]
"drive, timmy! drive!"
[music picks up]
[car engines backfiring]
[engines puttering]
[pistol fires]
[bullets wizzing]
welcome to the city, friend, where prohibition rules supreme!
[female vocalist with a coy, teasing tone]
Hit the gas, let's pour it up, cut to the chase
Weave through the streets with style and grace
Rumble of the engines, a metallic taste
The thrill of the chase, ain’t no time to waste
Flashin’ lights behind, but we're jumping ahead
Our speakeasy needs that rum, no time to dread
[female vocalist with a coy, teasing tone]
look over yonder, stare our foes in the eyes
it's the Waller's boys, out to take our prize
that's the second time this month, they's run our turf
let's teach them a lesson, hold your fire Murph!
[female speaking]
we've got a straightaway down yonder
let's beat em at their own game!
[intense orchestration with brass section]
{[police sirens getting louder]}
weeeeewooooweeeewooo!
{[gunfire and the rattle of tommy guns]}
ratatatata!
{[engines roaring, tires screeching]}
screeeeeech!
[gruff male voice shouting]
faster timmy, pull up right side em!