Maharley was born in
a frightening lightning storm
that lit up the sky with a chrome.
Tattoo all red, white, and blue
just like the Fourth of July.
He had no blanket or baby’s crib,
just some straw in a wooden crate.
Right out of the box he was flinging
rocks heading for the interstate.
And I could see Maharley’s heart
was a big as a yellow school bus.
Yeah I could see Maharley’s heart,
might beat in all of us.
Maharley...(Maharley)
Maharley teethed on two-by-fours.
His papa was Sparky the welder.
His ma was a biker babe from L.A.
They called her Poker-Face Zelda.
Now Zelda served up electric cables
to Maharley when he was a tot.
And these days when he opens his mouth
he can light up a parking lot.
And it’s no secret Maharley’s heart
is a big as a yellow school bus.
Yeah, it’s no secret Maharley’s heart,
might beat in all of us.
Maharley...(Maharley)
Maharley can roar like a lion;
he can purr like a kitty cat.
He’s as trusty as your old old dog, Rusty.
He knows where the bones
are buried at.
He turned his share of women’s heads.
And he’s broken a few men’s jaws.
He’s torn up the prettiest country club
fairways with his gnarley paws.
When bombs reigned down in World War 2,
Maharley dodged the bullet.
When napalm burned in Vietnam,
Maharley drove right through it.
He’s nailed a few drunk drivers.
He’s escorted presidents.
He’s sat in the dark collecting dust
at the widow’s residence.
That’s how I know Maharley’s heart
is as big as a yellow school bus.
That’s how I know Maharley’s heart
must beat in all of us.
Maharley...(Maharley)
So if you see Maharley
out there on some two lane road,
give him some room to move;
or better yet just leave him alone.
See, Maharley, he’s earned
his freedom.
Yeah, he’s paid his dues.
And whether or not he makes it back home...
hey, that’s up to you.
