Album: Clutch
(Fallon, Gaster, Maines, Sult)
In the north they call us Rebels,
In the south they call us Yankees,
Because every other sucker's born to do the hokey pokey
With the skillet lickin' time keepers,
The grinning reapers
Of a missionary rock star
You can rock it like Sir Sisyphus,
But even in it's genesis
It's really quite ridiculous,
'Lectric hobo, so now you know
Not to clock the Weeble Wobble hot rod gang,
Revelator big bang
You can't hang with the heavinesses hung
Among the houses of the rising tongue
No fun to crack the axle,
But it's got to be done
Because whenever you wobble the weebles
You know that they get ticked off
And in the season of boll-weevil speaking evil in your ear,
And a pile of manure fertilizing all your fears,
We yabbadabbadoo all the way to Shangri-la
Here it is with the rock and roll outlaw
Where rock is criminal, criminals rock
Where rock is criminal, the criminals, they rock
Where rock is criminal, criminals rock like this!
Hee haw, hee haw, hee haw, hee haw,
I'm a rock and roll outlaw