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Ratchetjaw lyrics

YEE-HAW! Merciful sakes alive! You wanna be one a them CBers, you gonna learn how to ratchetjaw! Pay attention now; I m only gonna explain it to ya once.

You gotta go runnin amuck in a pick- em-up truck
With one a those fancy sidebands?
Get four-on-the-floor and two on the door
Get a power mike in yer jaw-hand
Prepare to strike when ya key the mike
Cause ya never know who s a-listenin
Some clown insists on a 10-36
This here s what you give im:

"Four, good buddy, I made me a study
An I figger it s the dark a the moon, son
It s half-past spring an a quarter ta fall
An the big hand s a-settin on noon, son
Now if the fish don t bite and the almanac s right
And the groundhog sees his shadow
A 10-36 goes tick-tock-tick."
And that s what I call ratchetjaw!

Gotta git ya a base, out there at yer place
With a forty-foot pole on the chimney
With a thousand watts in yer flowerpots
And a ree-mote line in the biffy
If ya feel a twitch when ya throw the switch
Ya gonna dim all the lights in Wichita
Gonna send out a wave ta make the government rave
And this here s whatcha tell em all:

"Yeah, four, good buddy, yer comin in cruddy
But yer walkin right through my wall, boy
Yer carrier s cool, you makin me drool
You were definitely battin my ball, boy
You hittin me round about fifteen pound
You cut me up like a bandsaw
But what the heck, it s just a radio check."
And that there s how to ratchetjaw

[CB conversations. They re overlaid, as if you re listening to a party line.]

[Woman s voice] Breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker. We lookin for that one Buffalo Roy out there. Buffalo Roy, what s your twenty? Where are you anyway, Buffalo Roy? Are you out there? Come on in there, Buffalo Roy. 10-4.

[Man s voice] Lissen, you. Shut up on all them breakers. One breaker s enough. [words missing]...channel all the time. Can t hear a damn thing anybody s sayin .

[C.W.] Buffalo Roy? That s a dumb handle.

Wanna feel some pain? Just turn up yer gain
Get a fearful earful a garbage
Ta suppress a belch, just hit yer squelch
You can cut out all the carnage
You wanna have fun, you son-of-a-guns
Just get on the press-ta-talk switch
You gonna amuse em an really confuse em
With a little ol thing called ratchetjaw

Yeah, let them suckers think yer a trucker
Say stuff they can t understand, son
Just bounce up-an -down while yer toolin around
Gonna sound like a truck-drivin man, son
Just tell yer beaver that you gonna leave er
You catch her on the bounce-around
If she comes back with a smart-off crack
Say "X-Y-L, it s show-an -tell. We definitely got us to go now.
Keep yer pants on honey, hang onto the money
Yer X-Y-M s gotta blow now
Eighty-eight, thirds, and feed my bird
An all them numbers upon ya all
If speed don t kill, then CB will."
And that s what I call ratchetjaw

[More CB conversations.]

Breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, [repeated almost ad infinitum, punctuated by bouts of laughter]

[Man s voice. Begins deep, slowly rising to Shirley and Squirrely squeakiness.] Yeah, 10-4, we got ya, breaker. Come back on that? Say, what kind a ... s not? some kind a cotton-pickin ... you puttin me on, aren t cha? Yeah, you puttin me on, aren t cha? [Laughter] 10-4. 10-4.
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