---

Charlie the racer who was born to drive

Victim of petty lies

Disgraced by fans, media too

"A sellout who needs to die"

Enraged and frightened, screaming and thrashing

Comes up with a wicked plan

"I'll crush 'em with my war rig

And burn the bloody damned"

In his garage, fastens some blades

Arms the turret on top

Welds the drills, prepares the throwers

Charlie can't be stopped

Bursts through the derby, they all fall silent

As they see the wicked machine

"Charlie's my name!" he screams

Before he rips and tears the fiends

The derby of the damned

Gasoline mixed with blood

Transmissions manual

But his weapons automatic

Sixteen murdered, thirty left to kill

Charlie's favorite album

"Hacked Up for Barbeque"

The war rig rages

Crushing bones and flesh

When the rubber meets the bone

A skin and oiled mess

35 bled out from leg mutilation

11 burnt alive

42 tortured by the saw

His life drained from his eyes

The fans are screaming as Charlie grabs

The molten sprayer of steel

A drumming force, horrific percussion

Plays on the battlefield

Start your engines!

Gearhead Massacre

Gearhead Grind

Gearhead Massacre

Gearhead Grind

Gearhead Massacre

Gearhead Grind