(C.W. McCall, Fries, Chip Davis)
YEE-HAW! Merciful sakes alive! You wanna be one a' them CBers, you gonna learn how to ratchetjaw! Pay now; I'm only gonna explain it to ya once.
You gotta go runnin' in a pick-'em-up truck With one a' those fancy Get four-on-the-floor and two on the Get a mike in yer jaw-hand to strike when ya key the mike 'Cause ya never know a-listenin' Some insists on a 10-36 This what you give 'im:
"Four, buddy, I made me a study An' I figger the dark a' the moon, son It's half-past spring an' a ta fall An' the big a-settin' on noon, son Now if the don't bite and the almanac's right And the groundhog sees his A goes tick-tock-tick." And that's I call ratchetjaw!
git ya a base, out there at yer place With a forty-foot pole on the With a thousand in yer flowerpots And a ree-mote line in the If ya feel a when ya throw the switch Ya gonna dim all the lights in Gonna send out a wave ta make the rave And this here's whatcha 'em all:
"Yeah, four, buddy, yer comin' in cruddy But yer walkin' through my wall, boy Yer cool, you makin' me drool You definitely battin' my ball, boy You hittin' me round about pound You cut me up like a But what the heck, it's a radio check." And that there's how to
[CB conversations. They're overlaid, as if you're 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 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 a damn thing anybody's sayin'.
[C.W.] Buffalo That's a dumb handle.
Wanna feel some pain? Just turn up yer Get a fearful earful a' Ta suppress a belch, hit yer squelch You can cut out all the You have fun, you son-of-a-guns get on the press-ta-talk switch You gonna amuse 'em an' really 'em With a little ol' thing called
Yeah, let them think yer a trucker Say they can't understand, son Just up-an'-down while yer toolin' around Gonna like a truck-drivin' man, son Just yer beaver that you gonna leave 'er You catch her on the If she comes with a smart-off crack Say "X-Y-L, it's show-an'-tell. We got us to go now. Keep yer pants on honey, hang the money Yer gotta blow now Eighty-eight, thirds, and feed my An' all numbers upon ya all If speed don't kill, CB will." And that's what I ratchetjaw
CB conversations.]
Breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, breaker, [repeated almost ad infinitum, punctuated by bouts of
[Man's voice. Begins deep, slowly 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.