Nukem bros

Lyrics

This is sacred meat scripture. A sweat-stained prophecy scroll, carved into a dumbbell using nothing but rage, regret, and expired chicken grease. Also… I’m your narrator. I haven’t slept in six years. I only speak in workout metaphors. And I’m legally not allowed to narrate anything that doesn’t involve protein or explosions…. It all started 30 years ago. The world got too jacked, too fast— like your buddy who thinks one cycle of Tren makes him immortal. Civilization collapsed under the weight of its own gains. Cardio? Banned. Vegetables? Outlawed as “estrogen bombs.” The food pyramid was flipped upside down, bench-pressed, and used as a weapon during the Supplement Riots of ’96. The governments—well, the ones that hadn’t exploded from dehydration—put together a last-ditch plan. They built Planet Shred A government-funded orbital mega-gym, powered by tanning beds, grunts, and vanity. (Shame got banned around the same time as therapists.) Inside it? OPERATION SWOLE (Synthetically Weaponized Organisms for Lasting Earth.) Yeah, I know—it sounds like a protein brand your uncle sells out of his truck. But only two survived the program… CHAD. Busted out of the Tanning Pod mid-flex. Didn’t cry—just KO’d a lab tech and screamed: “LET’S FUCKING GO!” AND BRAD. Silent. Focused. Dead-eyed like a war-hardened yoga instructor. No tears. No chaos. Just a whisper: “Spot me, bro.” Oh—and did I mention? They’re twins. Yep. One placenta. Two problems. Together, they became… The Nukem Bros. Earth’s final flex before extinction. So the government gave them no rank. No leash. No plan. Just a gym. A mission. And a duffel bag that glowed in the dark and smelled like melted steak. Their job? Keep the Earth alive. Or make sure it dies jacked.