[Intro solo] THIS IS A SONG ABOUT THE 1969 PLYMOUTH ROADRUNNER SUPERBIRD AND HE'S FASTER THAN THE COYOTE. [Female Voice] Yeah. Hear that? That’s a warning. Too late. That Plymouth owns the road. Petty Blue, white stripe, nose up, loud as a grudge. 426 HEMI under the hood. Superbird nose cone out front, wing out back, built to bully. Try to keep up. Go on, I dare ya. I’ll wait. [Breakdown] Ashtray rattles, whole crowd shakes Wing fills the room, blocks out the stage Radio goes black, amps fall flat Everybody in the pit takes three steps back Beep beep Too slow [Solo] [Verse 1] [Female Voice] Fuel gauge on E, AC wheezing, cracked bench seat, hot dust spilling from the vents, 3/8 drive in the red tray, fan grinding grit through the rust. Grease under every nail, air thick with oil and steel, smell of old coolant, fresh rubber, and a road that never trusts. Ratchet in the drawer, extension with a fresh dent, vise-grip on the bracket, spring compressor bent. Past cracked asphalt seams, a faded sign for bait, a warped wood fence post, baked hard by years of sun. Old tire tracks sunk deep where the gravel meets the tar, a rusted culvert pipe catching what little light there is. [Pre-Chorus] [Female Voice] Hood popped, heat hits hard. 426 screaming now. Slam it into gear. Leave ’em choking on dust. [solo] [Chorus] [Female Voice] Get back! Lane's taken. 426 hits, it shakes your name. Superbird beak, wing in the sky. Cross that bird and you’re done tonight. Roadrunner eyes, cold as steel. Blink once, and it's gone for real. [Breakdown] Yeah. Floor it. Superbird. Hit it. Roadrunner. Strip it. Go. [Solo] [Verse 2] [Female Voice] The needle dances, E a blur, AC forgotten, just a hot wind. County lines disappear, tar streaks, a white blur of paint. Fence posts fly past, a stuttering picket fence, wire a gray whip. My shirt's a second skin, sweat-soaked, chafing raw. [solo] Pumpkins rot in a flash, feed sacks a smear, stoop a quick brown. Gravel machine-guns the undercarriage, dust cloud blooms. Bug guts stream back, a sticky, iridescent film on the glass. Splinters rip my sleeve as the cornfield becomes a green wall. Blue snout cleaves the air past the bait shop, screen door a clap, [solo] wing crests and drops, red mud a flick from the creek. One-pump station, a memory, cooler humming, sign a fast blur. Grain elevator stacks loom, then shrink, weeds a green streak. Old pickups are blurs, flat tires, rims a green moss. Chain-link bows and snaps, porch fan a frantic whir. Two-lane low, tires claw the edge, past barn roofs, hedges, cattle guards all a single brown. Creek-cut hollow, split-rail fence, gray lines that blur and merge. Out past the mile marker, I lean in, and the world goes away. [Saxophone solo] Two-lane low, gravel spitting up, Two-lane low, gravel spitting up, past the sagging barns and the cattle gates, through the creek-cut hollows and the split-rail breaks. Out past the marker, past the bend, I lean into it, let the wing bite in again. [Bridge] [Female Voice] It rolled out clean once, Petty Blue under strip mall lights. First launch hit hard. Tires barked, nose came up. Then the miles chewed it up: track dust, chipped paint, tarp, busted spring. But the HEMI still ticks. And the key still turns. [Solo] No shine. All teeth. Low E growls. No mercy. [final instrumental solo] Beep beep.
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