(C.W. McCall, Bill Fries, Chip Davis)
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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.
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You gotta go runnin' amuck in a pick-'em-up truck
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With one a' those fancy sidebands?
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Get four-on-the-floor and two on the door
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Get a power mike in yer jaw-hand
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Prepare to strike when ya key the mike
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'Cause ya never know who's a-listenin'
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Some clown insists on a 10-36
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This here's what you give 'im:
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"Four, good buddy, I made me a study
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An' I figger it's the dark a' the moon, son
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It's half-past spring an' a quarter ta fall
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An' the big hand's a-settin' on noon, son
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Now if the fish don't bite and the almanac's right
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And the groundhog sees his shadow
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A 10-36 goes tick-tock-tick."
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And that's what I call ratchetjaw!
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Gotta git ya a base, out there at yer place
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With a forty-foot pole on the chimney
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With a thousand watts in yer flowerpots
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And a ree-mote line in the biffy
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If ya feel a twitch when ya throw the switch
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Ya gonna dim all the lights in Wichita
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Gonna send out a wave ta make the government rave
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And this here's whatcha tell 'em all:
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"Yeah, four, good buddy, yer comin' in cruddy
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But yer walkin' right through my wall, boy
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Yer carrier's cool, you makin' me drool
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You were definitely battin' my ball, boy
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You hittin' me round about fifteen pound
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You cut me up like a bandsaw
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But what the heck, it's just a radio check."
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And that there's how to ratchetjaw
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[CB conversations. They're overlaid, as if you're listening to a party line.]
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[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.
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[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'.
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[C.W.] Buffalo Roy? That's a dumb handle.
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Wanna feel some pain? Just turn up yer gain
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Get a fearful earful a' garbage
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Ta suppress a belch, just hit yer squelch
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You can cut out all the carnage
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You wanna have fun, you son-of-a-guns
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Just get on the press-ta-talk switch
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You gonna amuse 'em an' really confuse 'em
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With a little ol' thing called ratchetjaw
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Yeah, let them suckers think yer a trucker
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Say stuff they can't understand, son
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Just bounce up-an'-down while yer toolin' around
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Gonna sound like a truck-drivin' man, son
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Just tell yer beaver that you gonna leave 'er
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You catch her on the bounce-around
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If she comes back with a smart-off crack
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Say "X-Y-L, it's show-an'-tell. We definitely got us to go now.
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Keep yer pants on honey, hang onto the money
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Yer X-Y-M's gotta blow now
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Eighty-eight, thirds, and feed my bird
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An' all them numbers upon ya all
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If speed don't kill, then CB will."
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And that's what I call ratchetjaw
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[More CB conversations.]
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Breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, [repeated almost ad infinitum, punctuated by bouts of laughter]
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[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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Ratchetjaw
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C.W. McCall |