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A full-throttle ode to the bygone era of fast two-stroke motorcycles, like the Kawasaki 3 cylinder bikes nicknamed "widow-makers". Lyrics © Señor Barends They called 'em widowmakers Death chasers, bone breakers Built to kill, not to last But when they screamed, man, they screamed fast Blue smoke trailin’, high and mean Roarin’ demons in two-stroke dreams No brakes, just bite, no room to fake Full rev’d heart, no give, all take Twist the grip, let those pistons scream Crankshaft gospel, fire and oil Gasoline prayer, guts that spoil Every twist a dare, every turn a sin Light the sky, let that engine spin Fuel to fury, let it flow, let it boil Screams like a banshee, Tears down the street, Chokes you on power, leaves you beat Hold that line and don’t give in When that powerband hits, it pulls you in Dirty lungs, loud hearts Rough rides, blown-apart Tuned to kill, never tuned clean Ran like hell, never ran serene Ghost machines, lean and mean Screams like a banshee Tears down the street Chokes you on power, leaves you beat Fuel and faith, that’s all we trust It’s either the glory, or bite the dust Plenty of puff, but never clean enough Never got it right, always in spite Relics rust, but memory bites, I still hear the hornets cry at night Two strokes to burn, two strokes to tear Every flick of wrist dares despair Misfire melody, piston punch Powerband hits you like a lunch Fast and filthy, no time to care Screams like a banshee Tears down the street Chokes you on power, leaves you beat Grip the beast, don’t lose command When that band hits, you’ll understand The road kept the rubber The air kept the noise I kept a spark plug and a busted wristwatch That’s all that’s left of the noise we made …and maybe that’s enough