Muchacho Punk Brothers

The muchacho punk brothers
Are out, looking for a score,
Driving some p.o.s. junker
Chopped, lowered and more,
Fur on the dashboard
Mirror dice spinning,
A sawed-off on the floorboards
Oh, how the two of them are grinning.

Driving an old Gran Torino
With crappy factory wheels,
Wearing the cheapest damn tires
And running leaky oil seals,
Smoke burping from the tail-pipe
Nothing stealthy about these two,
Going for that cool, gangsta look
Trying to frighten me and you.

It’s a custom shade of faded black
With primer on the rear panel,
Fake leather upholstery
Of the finest cotton flannel,
An over-amped sub-woofer
Makes the whole thing buzz and shake,
Ya, the muchacho punk brothers
Look like an ancient molting snake.

Who do they impress?
Only themselves, I suspect,
Or maybe, they are movie folks
In a show, where the world is wrecked,
Some reality TV actors
Personifying bad,
Driving a p.o.s. junked Torino
Dreaming of the things they never had.

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