[Verse 1]
Out where the sun bakes bones and the wind forgets your name,
We grew up learnin’ every hustle in that no man’s land of flame.
Cars rolled by on bare-ass rims, no rubber left to spare,
Smoke from meth labs hung like ghosts in the dry Mojave air.
We saw sparks in run down sheds, with blowtorches for a light,
Chop shops hummin’ late at night, grinding metal outta sight.
CB radios whispered sin—“you got the cash, I got the pack”—
And we kept our mouths shut tight ’cause loose lips don’t come back.
[Chorus]
I know where the VINs are buried,
Under grease and desert stone.
With pink slips wrapped in plastic bags,
For a frame they’ll call their own.
We hauled folks into town for a part of their stamps,
And gas in the truck to make it stick,
Hustled five days on their government checks,
Then our month went by real quick.
Yeah, I know where the VINs are buried,
And the truth ain’t never slick.
[Verse 2]
We weren’t angels, hell, we knew—survival don’t wear white,
But we learned which cars were ghosts, and which ones came back to life.
They’d dig up IDs like treasure maps, weld ‘em on and spray,
Make a stripped car brand new, and sell it the next day.
Took old folks down the hill for groceries, paid in government beans,
Some gave us gas, some gave us more, but most just gave us the means.
We kept the engine hummin’ long, past hope or past repair,
With duct tape dreams and dashboard saints and scars you couldn’t wear.
[Chorus]
🎤 I know where the VINs are buried,
Where the busted ride again.
Where steel gets born from junkyard bones
And new lies wear old skin.
We ran those backroads blind and broke,
But never without pride,
’Cause we knew what the city folks
Could never see inside.
🎸 Yeah, I know where the VINs are buried,
And that dirt still hides the ride.
[Bridge]
I seen tags that changed their tale,
Titles smudged with desert dust.
I seen men trade lives for cars,
And engines fueled by rust.
We didn’t need no college plan—
We knew our worth in grit,
In codes scratched off and welded back
Where sunlight couldn’t hit.
[Final Chorus]
I know where the VINs are buried,
And the truth smells just like oil.
Where busted dreams and body filler
Rest beneath the desert soil.
You think you know what struggle means—
Come take a ride with me,
Where every frame’s a second chance
And every soul ain’t free.
Yeah, I know where the VINs are buried,
And they’re callin’ back to me…
nightwerks
