[Intro: spoken, gravel old male, radio static] Dispatch, this is the eleven-forty, crestin' Cutler Grade Copy, Earl. Last run. Bring it home [Verse 1: gravel old male MC, steady] Forty-one years on the right-hand seat, and Friday is my last Got a gold watch in a duffel and a kid with me named Cass Hundred twelve cars of corn, fourteen thousand tons of weight Crest the top of Cutler Grade at eleven-forty, runnin' late Set the dynamic brake and wait to hear the coolin' fans Panel throws a fault light, and it's quiet. That ain't in the plans Reach for the air brake next, I'm pullin', feelin' how it fades Hundred twelve cars of momentum, and it's sixteen miles of grade [Hook: gravel old male MC, the drums pick up] Hundred twelve cars, and the brakes won't bite Two-point-two percent, and it's all downhill tonight Thirty years they told me I would never make the grade Now the grade is tryin' to make me, and I ain't afraid [Accelerando: the band speeds up every bar from here] [Verse 2: gravel old male MC, faster] Thirty miles an hour, forty, needle climbin' while we drop Cass is on the radio, "Dispatch, we cannot fuckin' stop" Bottom of the hill is Merritt, nine hundred people sleepin' sound If we hit that curve at seventy, we're layin' corn all over town Kid says, "Earl, we gotta jump." I say, "Sit down and watch the post Milepost forty-one is comin', and that's the one I fought for most" Ninety-four I wore a tie into a meetin' full of suits Said we need a runaway spur, and they laughed into their boots Called it Earl's Folly in the break room for a decade and a half Took eleven years of letters, and a union fight, and every laugh [Hook: gravel old male MC, faster still] Hundred twelve cars, and the brakes won't bite Two-point-two percent, and it's all downhill tonight Thirty years they told me I would never make the grade Now the grade is tryin' to make me, and I ain't afraid [Verse 3: gravel old male MC, fastest] Sixty-two, then sixty-eight, milepost forty-one in sight Switch is lined for Earl's Folly, and I lay on the horn all night Hundred twelve cars hit the spur, and the rail goes climbin' high Quarter mile of uphill track into sand piled to the sky Fifty, forty, thirty, twenty, ten, the sand pile takes the nose Corn comes over like confetti, and the whole train sighs and slows Engine quiet, kid is cryin', and the town is sleepin' sound Never knew a joke from ninety-four just caught us on the way down [Final Hook: gravel old male MC, full speed, then the band hits once and holds] Hundred twelve cars, and the brakes won't bite Two-point-two percent, and it's all downhill tonight Thirty years they told me I would never make the grade Turns out back in ninety-four, I'm the man who made it [Outro: spoken, gravel old male] Dispatch, eleven-forty. We're stopped Tell 'em they can quit laughin' [End]
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