Brothers in Grease

Early days, slinging parts in the back. Mopar dreams stacked on a rack.

Oil-stained hands, cash in a tin. Young and dumb, where do we

begin? Wrenches clanging, life was raw. No money, but plenty of

draw. Brothers in grease, blood without blood. Rust and chrome ran thick in

the flood. Thirty years gone, still we stand. Two old outlaws, one hell of

a band. Friday nights, whiskey and fire. Cars and trouble, no wrong felt

right. Pistons roaring, hearts on fire. Two boys chasing a road of

desire. Through the smoke, through the haze. Brother, we burned in