Tommy and Joe,
they lived out their lives
amongst the wrenches and the
grease and the glass and the tires,
ran a little garage on 65
and they pumped a little gas
to the cars that went by.
On Saturday night, they shut it down,
they sat on the steps
and watched the cars roll into town.
Tommy and Joe, they lived out their lives
and married to the wrenches
like husbands and wives.
Didn't know nothin',
there was nothin' to know.
Except if it wouldn't run,
they could make it go.
Grease on the floor, mud on the ground.
Fill it up, and shut it down.
Tommy and Joe,
they never wanted much,
just the ticking of the engine,
the slipping of the clutch,
the breaking of the tires,
the whining of the wheels,
the driving of the pistons,
spark and fuel, oil and steel.
and then Detroit change the rules
fixing cars without any tools
turn on the switches
switch on the lights
look at the screen you're out of time
lock up the door change the sign
shut off the pumps
Tommy and Joe,
they never wanted much,
just the ticket of the engine,
the slippin' of the clutch,
the breakin' of the tires,
the windin' of the wheels,
the drivin' of the piston,
spark and fuel, oil and steel.
Tommy and Joe, they lived out their lives
in some old shack out in sixty -five
Out on the porch with a bottle of rye,
calling out the years
of the cars that went by
Blood on your knuckles,
a twinkle in your eye,
number nine cylinders,
a little dry
Tommy and Joe,
they never wanted much,
just the ticking of the engine,
the slipping of the clutch,
the breaking of the tires,
the winding of the wheels,
the driving of the Piston,
spark, and fuel, oil, and steel,
spark, and fuel, oil,
and steel.
Thanks so much.
So, you know, every, uh...