Junkyard Dog Lyrics

If you've ever seen a feral cat, well Ryan was a boy was a lot like that

Smart, sadistic, extremely sly, not tethered by the bonds that society provides

Allergic to the drugs that might calm him down

He became wild, a second junkyard hound

Speaking of the first dog, a shepherd, white, suspicious by day, vicious by night

Tail between his legs, followed you slow, like Ryan but skulking, plotting you know

Big and slow, but inside fire

Jaws as big as a Sportster tire

Speaking of the Harley, Ryan's father had one in rough condition, corrosion bad

Walt and I had come to scrape its rust and maybe shake off some of that junkyard dust

Turns out the dog, "He don't like bikes.

Really makes him mad. Must be the loud pipes."

We worked about an hour, Ryan under our feet,

Till the straight pipes thundered, Ryan revved it screaming

Just to watch the dog get riled, the dog paced fast, his eyes on fire

Problem: how to get the bike out of the yard? Walt got in the saddle, steeled his heart

Trusting lightning not to strike, trusting the competence of this old bike

Trusting vision not to blur, trusting the boy to hold onto his cur

Gravel flying, prayer on his lips

Reigning in a horse of the Apocalypse

Now, why he laughed and let the dog go, only Ryan and his God will ever know

Walt overshot the road, fishtailed in the dirt – the dog knew a shortcut, got there first

Jaws as big as that Harley's back rim

You could almost see the drool on the evil chin

The riding mower – I forgot to mention that – Ryan's dad was working on earlier, out in the back –

Following the bike, the jaws, the boy laughing tears, Dad, perched on his mower was bringing up the rear.

All Walt was thinking, after thanking God?

Returning that bike, getting it past that dog