Ratchetjaw Lyrics

Ratchetjaw

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.