BANG! BANG! … BANG!
(Yeah, that’s the sound of the Dill boys clockin’ in.)
BANG!
We grew up in Hanford where the wild wind howls,
Where the dust hits hard and the coyotes prowl.
Me and my brother swingin’ gates at dawn,
Born tough as barbed wire, raised country strong.
Goats bleatin’, cows bawlin’, horses kickin’ the rails,
We learned to keep movin’ through storms and hell.
Mama taught respect, Daddy taught command—
Taught us how to throw a punch and still shake a man’s hand.
Folks ask why we ride like we’re hell on wheels,
Why we raise that dust and don’t care how it feels.
Why we step up first when the trouble hits the land—
We just grin, crack our knuckles, tell ’em:
“It’s a Dill thing… you wouldn’t understand.”
BANG! BANG!
We left Cali burnin’ in our rearview glass,
Rolled into Oklahoma like a wildfire blast.
Keys felt right—like we finally belonged,
Two country boys built stubborn and strong.
Muscles from labor, hearts from hurt,
We earned every inch of respect in the dirt.
Folks asked how we came up so mean yet so grand—
We told ’em, “Hard work, tough love… that’s the Dill brand.”
Folks ask why we ride like we’re hell on wheels,
Why we raise that dust and don’t care how it feels.
Why we step up first when the trouble hits the land—
We just grin, crack our knuckles, tell ’em:
“It’s a Dill thing… you wouldn’t understand.”
Kick the dirt, light the fire,
We were forged in sweat and wire.
Rowdy but loyal, rough but fair,
If there’s trouble brewin’, you’ll find us there.
BANG! (just to make the point clear)
So when they question why we do what we do,
Why we stand so tall, why we come crashin’ through—
We laugh, tip our hats, boots firm in the sand,
And say:
“It’s a Dill thing… you wouldn’t understand.”
BANG! BANG!
(That’s the Dill sign-off.)
TREYDILL
