Some say his overalls are greasier than ripe Camembert.
All we know is...he's called the Stig!
Just take a look at this...

...out of Gambon...
into Chicago...
look at the spin on that...
oooh touch of oversteer there...
like a bat out of hell...
will he make it?...
final corner...
hooo hooo hooo...
that really was fast...

...for a dreamy-eyed boy racer
in his first car,
a second-hand car,
with dodgy brakes,
racing through the streets
of his home town.
Graduated to this,
from video games
where the cheat code
buys infinite lives,
and the tv shows,
glamourise,
and he gets carried away
from the twisted wreckage,
and the dream dies.
It doesn't pay
to idolise.

The light turns red,
but he goes through.
Presses down
with his right shoe.
He's seen it in the movies
and he knows you,
thinks that you will stop
and he hopes you,
will flash to let him know
that he can burn you.
But two minds think alike
and he hits you.
At high speed
things happen fast,
and he can't do
what he wants to,
straight through the windscreen,
flying past you.

And it starts to rain,
makes kaleidoscopes
of the flashing blue lights.
Stuck in the coned lane,
in the aftermath of Sunday night.
And the raindrops drip
from the chrome and the rubber.
And the blood runs red
with the water in the gutter.
And the phone rings loud
in the house of the mother.
As the body bag is zipped
on the face of yet another.

...that was truly exhilarating...
the sheer power...
the unbridled speed...
and whatever you do...
don't get in your car and try that...
and remember...
always stop at the red light...
and on that bombshell...
it's goodnight!