[Intro] [Solo two-tone woodblocks establish an unhurried 86 BPM alternating high-and-low wooden knock] [Solo acoustic 5-string banjo enters with a jaunty, syncopated clawhammer lick] (Spoken in a raspy, weathered southern drawl): "Gather close now, boys... pull that rocker near. The lantern's low, and I got a lifetime of certified wisdom to hand down before I check out..." [Verse 1] [Two-tone woodblocks tap a steady hollow high-low rhythm; banjo answers lines with quirky bends] If I had just one thing I could say to you before I cease to be, It’s never look a mechanic in the eyes or let him check decree. If that check-engine light begins to flicker on your dashboard plastic, Just slap some black electrical tape across it—it’s fantastic! When the transmission starts to grind like a bucket of river stone, Just crank the AM radio and leave the hood alone. [Chorus 1] [Banjo breaks into runaway fingerpicking rolls over rapid alternating woodblock clatter] Oh, if I had just one thing I could say before I cease to be, Double down on pure mistakes with absolute sincerity! If you owe the bank a hundred bucks, you better run and hide, If you owe the bank ten million, boy, you take the president’s side! Stand tall upon the sinking dock and never drop your pride, The secret to a long sweet life is acting bona fide! [Verse 2] [Woodblocks soften to sparse, low-pitched hollow taps; banjo plays dry syncopated chops] Now listen how to handle kin when family quarrels start to rise: If you’re caught dead red-handed, look right through their squinted eyes. Don't stumble through an alibi or mumble in despair, Just whisper that you're working covert government affairs! And never read the warning labels printed on the jug, Those skull-and-crossbone pictures are just doodles on a mug! [Refrain 1] [Paced, syncopated woodblock shuffle; banjo accents each punchline with a twangy snap] Keep the county guessing, boys, and never use the light; A turn signal just tells the world where you intend to bite. Back straight into the mailbox and then blame a neighbor’s hound, That’s how a man of dignity keeps standing on his ground. [Verse 3] [Banjo weaves agile, comedic melodic runs around crisp high-low woodblock knocks] The wallpaper is fading fast, the room is turning green, So heed the budget secrets of a king you never seen: Dry your heavy denim in the toaster when you're pressed for town, And never pay a parking meter when the sun is going down— Just pop your hazard flashers on and leave it in the street, Two blinking amber lamps make any parking spot complete! [Chorus 2] [Banjo soars with bright rolls as woodblocks accelerate into rapid double-time clicks] Yeah, if I had just one thing I could say before the final bell, If the bridge behind is burnt to ash, just swear it burned real well! If you find yourself dead wrong inside an argument or race, Don't you back down half an inch—just bark right in their face! The truth is just an ornament for folks without the nerve, A stubborn fool can rule the world by swerving every curve! [Verse 4] [Tempo remains steady at 86 BPM; banjo plays sparse clawhammer notes over gentle wood taps] My boots are feeling heavy now, the pulse is dropping slow, The doctor wants a diet change, but what does doctor know? Deep-fry every leafy green and sugar-coat the pill, Salt has cured a side of pork, so salt can cure your chill! And if a grizzly stalks your camp, just stare him down and wink, And never waste a single breath on what the neighbors think! [Refrain 2] [Steady rhythmic woodblock cadence; banjo punctuates with mocking slides] When the river starts to rise, don't build a higher berm; Just pull a rocking chair outside and wait another turn. Let trouble tire itself right out while you just sit and grin, 'Cause stubbornness is holiness when you refuse to win. [Grand Outro - The Final Flatline] [Tempo drags down drastically into an agonizing, slow comedic deathbed crawl] [Woodblocks slow to sporadic, isolated, hollow knocks like a stopping grandfather clock] [Solo banjo plays a weeping, discordant chromatic crawl down the neck] (Vocal turns faint, wheezy, and melodramatically raspy): "The light at the end of the tunnel is flickerin', boys... Don't you pay... the electric company... tap the wires with coat hangers... And the final golden secret... if I had just one thing... before I cease to be... Never... ever... take advice... from... aaaaaagh—" [Vocal: Exaggerated death rattle groan, trailing into silence] [Banjo plays a comically detuned, sour descending string-choke bend that dies out] [Woodblock plays two final, dying knocks: high tok... low tok.......] [Sound of the wooden mallet slipping from limp fingers and dropping onto the floor] [A single loose banjo string pings and mutes] [Definitive Synchronized Hard Stop] [Absolute Silence] [End]
