[INTRO — OLD RADIO STATIC] [Vacuum-tube hum] [RADIO HOST]: “Good evening, children of the midnight hour…” [Static crackles] “Tonight's program is brought to you by the recently deceased.” [Distorted Woman scream] HAHAHAHA! [Engine revving] KICK IT! VERSE 1 Blacktop preacher with a gasoline grin, Chrome-plated devil saying, “Let me in.” Dead girl dancing on a motel sign, Six-six-six and a bottle of wine. Bone-yard rhythm, Cadillac shake, Little Miss Murder gonna make you break. Red light flashing, Hear that sound— There's a dead man's voice coming underground. HEY! PRE-CHORUS Turn that dial! TURN IT UP! Feel that static! FUCK IT UP! One-oh-six on the radio— Where the signal comes from? NOBODY KNOWS! CHORUS DEAD MAN RADIO! WHOAH-OH! Broadcasting straight from six feet below! DEAD MAN RADIO! HEY! HEY! Turn it louder till the speakers blow! Shake those bones! Dig that grave! Ride that frequency beyond the saved! DEAD! MAN! RA-DI-O! [Distorted voice] Everybody dies on stereo. VERSE 2 Chainsaw Betty in a leopard-skin coat, Black mascara and a slit-cut throat. She climbed from the trunk of a '69 ride, [Distorted Female Voice]: “Baby, wanna see where the bad girls hide?” Hell yeah. Motor oil dripping from an angel's wings, Jukebox coughing while the dead man sings. One hand steering, One hand down— We're taking this bastard straight through town! PRE-CHORUS Turn that dial! TURN IT UP! Feel that static! FUCK IT UP! Hear that coffin amplifier moan— WELCOME TO THE DEAD ZONE! CHORUS DEAD MAN RADIO! WHOAH-OH! Broadcasting straight from six feet below! DEAD MAN RADIO! HEY! HEY! Turn it louder till the speakers blow! Shake those bones! Dig that grave! Ride that frequency beyond the saved! DEAD! MAN! RA-DI-O! Everybody dies on stereo. BREAKDOWN [Record scratches backward] [VOICE]: “Warning.” [THUMP] “This frequency is reserved…” [THUMP] “…for persons…” [THUMP] “…no longer legally alive.” [Silence] GOOD. [Crushing half-time riff] CORPSE! MACHINE! GASOLINE! MAGAZINE! BLACK! WHITE! TECHNICOLOR! HORROR SHOW TONIGHT! [Gang vocals] HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY! DIG IT! BRIDGE — SPOKEN [Slow fuzz bass] Midnight. Middle of nowhere. Your radio turns itself on. No station. No tower. No DJ. Just somebody whispering your name. [Radio hiss] “Come closer…” [Pause] Don't worry. They already know where you live. [Female laughter] VERSE 3 Skeleton saints doing ninety-five, Dead since Sunday but they still can drive. Graveyard girls hanging out the door, [Screaming]: “GO FASTER! GIVE ME MORE!” White-wall tires and a coffin hood, Everything wicked starts feeling good. Highway ends at the cemetery gate— TOO DAMN FAST! TOO DAMN LATE! FINAL CHORUS DEAD MAN RADIO! WHOAH-OH! Broadcasting straight from six feet below! DEAD MAN RADIO! HEY! HEY! Crank that bastard till the speakers blow! Raise the dead! Wake the grave! Everybody dance like nobody gets saved! DEAD! MAN! RA-DI-O! DEAD! MAN! RA-DI-O! [Gang vocals] TURN IT UP! TURN IT UP! TURN IT UP! GO! GO! GO! DEAD MAN RADIO! OUTRO [Music abruptly stops] [Radio static] [RADIO HOST]: “You've been listening to Dead Man Radio.” [Electrical interference] “If you're hearing this transmission…” [Long pause] “…you didn't make it.” [Coffin lid slams] BANG! [Faint voice] “Same time tomorrow?” [Static] CLICK.
