Songtext Ratchetjaw C.W. McCall

Ratchetjaw

(c.w. mccall, bill fries, chip davis)

Yee-haw! merciful sakes alive! you wanna be one a them cbers, you gonna learn how to ratchetjaw! pay attention now; Im 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 whos a-listenin
Some clown insists on a 10-36
This heres what you give im:

Four, good buddy, I made me a study
An I figger its the dark a the moon, son
Its half-past spring an a quarter ta fall
An the big hands a-settin on noon, son
Now if the fish dont bite and the almanacs right
And the groundhog sees his shadow
A 10-36 goes tick-tock-tick.
And thats 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 heres whatcha tell em all:

Yeah, four, good buddy, yer comin in cruddy
But yer walkin right through my wall, boy
Yer carriers 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, its just a radio check.
And that theres how to ratchetjaw

[cb conversations. theyre overlaid, as if youre listening to a party line.]

[womans voice] breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker. we lookin for that one buffalo roy out there. buffalo roy, whats your twenty? where are you anyway, buffalo roy? are you out there? come on
Ere, buffalo roy. 10-4.

[mans voice] lissen, you. shut up on all them breakers. one breakers enough. [words missing]...channel all the time. cant hear a damn thing anybodys sayin.

[c.w.] buffalo roy? thats 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 cant 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, its show-an-tell. we definitely got us to go now.
Keep yer pants on honey, hang onto the money
Yer x-y-ms gotta blow now
Eighty-eight, thirds, and feed my bird
An all them numbers upon ya all
If speed dont kill, then cb will.
And thats what I call ratchetjaw

[more cb conversations.]

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

[mans 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... snot? some kind a cotton-pickin... you
N me on, arent cha? yeah, you puttin me on, arent cha? [laughter] 10-4. 10-4.