The Three Kings of Chrome

3 Bikers bring Whiskey to a newborn Motorcycle, Southern Blues Rock Parody

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(Intro - [A dusty, groovy blues riff on the electric guitar. The distinctive "Potato-Potato" sound of three Harleys idling. A coyote howls in the distance.])

(Spoken, deep & cool): We didn't follow no star. Stars are for dreamers. We followed the flickering neon sign of "Mary’s Custom Garage".

(Verse 1) Gaspar rode a Panhead, leaking oil on the sand, Melchior had a Knucklehead, the loudest in the land. And Balthasar was riding sweeping, watching out for cops, Three wise men in leather vests, making no pit stops. We didn't bring no bibles, we didn't bring no prayer, Just the smell of gasoline and dust inside our hair. The prophecy was written on a bathroom stall so crude: "The King will rise at midnight, with an attitude."

(Chorus) We are the Three Kings of Chrome, rolling through the night, Looking for the miracle beneath the neon light. We don't bring no frankincense, we don't bring no gold, We bring a bottle of Whiskey, aged and bold! We bring a polished Carburetor, shiny as a gem, And a carton of Marlboros for the rest of them. Hallelujah on the highway, let the engines scream!

(Verse 2) We pulled up to the garage door, rusted and halfway down, The only light in this godforsaken desert town. Mary was a mechanic, with grease upon her cheek, Joseph held a flashlight, he hasn't slept a week. And there in the center, on a lift made of steel, Wasn't no crying baby... it was a brand new set of wheels! A custom chopper "Born to Run," painted candy red, "It's beautiful," said Gaspar, nodding his helmet head.

(Guitar Solo - [Laid back, groovy blues solo with wah-wah effect and pinch harmonics. Cool and relaxed.])

(Bridge) Some folks bow to statues, some folks bow to pews, But we bow to the open road and the traveler's blues. We cracked the seal on the whiskey, poured a shot for the bike, We blessed the chrome and the rubber, for the long and heavy hike. Then Mary turned the key, and the engine came alive, The loudest Hallelujah that you ever heard arrive!

(Outro) (Engines revving up, laughter, clinking bottles) (Spoken): Yeah... that's a holy sound right there. Merry Christmas, brothers. Let's ride. (Fade out with a final blues lick)

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(Intro - [A dusty, groovy blues riff on the electric guitar. The distinctive "Potato-Potato" sound of three Harleys idling. A coyote howls in the distance.]) (Spoken, deep & cool): We didn't follow no star. Stars are for dreamers. We followed the flickering neon sign of "Mary’s Custom Garage". (Verse 1) Gaspar rode a Panhead, leaking oil on the sand, Melchior had a Knucklehead, the loudest in the land. And Balthasar was riding sweeping, watching out for cops, Three wise men in leather vests, making no pit stops. We didn't bring no bibles, we didn't bring no prayer, Just the smell of gasoline and dust inside our hair. The prophecy was written on a bathroom stall so crude: "The King will rise at midnight, with an attitude." (Chorus) We are the Three Kings of Chrome, rolling through the night, Looking for the miracle beneath the neon light. We don't bring no frankincense, we don't bring no gold, We bring a bottle of Whiskey, aged and bold! We bring a polished Carburetor, shiny as a gem, And a carton of Marlboros for the rest of them. Hallelujah on the highway, let the engines scream! (Verse 2) We pulled up to the garage door, rusted and halfway down, The only light in this godforsaken desert town. Mary was a mechanic, with grease upon her cheek, Joseph held a flashlight, he hasn't slept a week. And there in the center, on a lift made of steel, Wasn't no crying baby... it was a brand new set of wheels! A custom chopper "Born to Run," painted candy red, "It's beautiful," said Gaspar, nodding his helmet head. (Guitar Solo - [Laid back, groovy blues solo with wah-wah effect and pinch harmonics. Cool and relaxed.]) (Bridge) Some folks bow to statues, some folks bow to pews, But we bow to the open road and the traveler's blues. We cracked the seal on the whiskey, poured a shot for the bike, We blessed the chrome and the rubber, for the long and heavy hike. Then Mary turned the key, and the engine came alive, The loudest Hallelujah that you ever heard arrive! (Chorus) We are the Three Kings of Chrome, rolling through the night, Looking for the miracle beneath the neon light. We don't bring no frankincense, we don't bring no gold, We bring a bottle of Whiskey, aged and bold! We bring a polished Carburetor, shiny as a gem, And a carton of Marlboros for the rest of them. Hallelujah on the highway, let the engines scream! (Outro) (Engines revving up, laughter, clinking bottles) (Spoken): Yeah... that's a holy sound right there. Merry Christmas, brothers. Let's ride. (Fade out with a final blues lick)

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