| Every spring when the weather gets warm
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| They come pourin' into town straight off of them farms
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| Driving 455s running hard and strong
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| They’d scratch built in them tool sheds all winter long
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| 'Neath the trestles drinkin' the beer and the wine
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| Now some came to run, some just to pass the time
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| With the brothers under the bridges
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| Me and Tommy we was just fourteen, didn’t have our licenses yet
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| Our walls were covered with pictures of cars we’d get
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| We’d listen and wait for that highway to rumble and quake
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| As they drove in through town when the weekend’d break
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| Bringin' girls with that distant look in their eyes
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| Now together 'neath the trestles they’d be laughing in the night
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| With the brothers under the bridges
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| Well me and my brother’d hitched a ride in Joey’s pickup to the edge of town
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| And we watched from the tall grass as the challenges were made and the duels
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| went down
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| We’d hitchhike back home, sneak in, get in bed before our mom’d come
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| And we’d lay there in the night talkin' about how we might someday be one
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| Yeah someday run with the brothers under the bridges
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| Well now I hear a cry in the distance and the sound of marching feet come and
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| gone
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| Well I’m stittin' down here by this highway figuring, figuring just where I
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| belong
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| Tonight up on Signal Hill
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| I watch a young man in a red shirt walking through a night so still
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| Put his jacket 'round his girl as the autumn wind send a chill
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| Through the brothers under the bridges |