Ratchetjaw Lyrics - C.w. Mccall

(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; 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.