Jasons GM400

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Jason rolls in early with a coffee and a grin, Checks his precious radar like he’s checking out a sin. That GM400’s got him weak down in the knees, He strokes the damn console like, “Baby, talk dirty to me, please.” He knows every button, every cable, every screen, Calls her “sweetheart” quietly when nobody can see. If that radar had a pair of legs and wore a dress, Jason would’ve married it and called the priest himself, I guess. [Chorus] Ohhh, Jason loves his GM400, More than whiskey, women, sleep, or getting paid. He gets a little twitch when that antenna starts a-turnin’, Lord have mercy, that boy’s radar-curious again. He works for DSCB— “What’s that stand for?” “Hell, I don’t know, ask me after lunch.” Four damn letters, twenty explanations, And Jason forgets every single fuckin’ one. [Verse 2] DSCB might mean “Don’t Screw Crap, Buddy,” Or “Department of Seriously Confusing Bullshit,” honey. “Digital Something… Combat… Banana?” Jason shrugs and takes another bite of his banana. His boss said, “Jason, memorize the section name.” Jason said, “Sure,” then immediately forgot the fucking thing again. He can track a target halfway across God’s creation, But four little letters cause a total system degradation. [Chorus] Ohhh, Jason loves his GM400, That big spinning bastard is the love of his life. He’d probably buy it flowers, pour it dinner, light some candles, And whisper, “Scan my airspace tonight.” But ask him what DSCB means, His brain just packs its shit and leaves. He’ll stare into the distance like a confused old cow, “D… Something… C… Shit… what was it now?” [Verse 3] Then one day Jason had a tiny little brain fart, Forgot one important thing before the radar had to start. Two poor bastards went walking where they shouldn’t oughta be, And Jason suddenly screamed, “OH FUCK—WAIT—COME BACK TO ME!” They damn near got themselves Kentucky-fried, While Jason aged about twelve years standing terrified. He slapped that console like a cheating girlfriend’s ass, Yelling, “NOT TODAY, YOU HIGH-TECH MICROWAVE-LOOKIN’ BASTARD!” The two came walking back like, “Jason, what the fuck?” He said, “Technical issue… basically… bad luck.” They said, “Were you about to cook us?” Jason coughed and scratched his head: “Well technically you’re both still walking, so statistically… not dead.” [Bridge] There’s now a brand-new checklist In letters ten feet tall: “BEFORE YOU TURN THE FUCKER ON, MAKE SURE YOU CHECK IT ALL.” Jason framed that motherfucker, Hung it proudly by his chair, Then spent twenty minutes staring At his radar underwear. [Verse 4] At night he dreams in frequencies, azimuth and range, Normal people dream of beaches—Jason’s fucking strange. His browser history probably reads like classified romance: “GM400 close-up photos” “Radar antenna sexy dance.” He bought a little model, keeps it next to his bed, Whispers, “Who’s my surveillance queen?” before he lays his head. His wife said, “Jason, choose between that radar thing and me.” Jason didn’t even blink: “…Does the GM come with warranty?” [Final Chorus] Ohhh, Jason and his GM400, It’s the filthiest love story ever told. He likes his women pretty, But his radar French and gritty, With an antenna that can make his blood run cold. And DSCB still means… Fuck knows what, Jason’s given up pretending that he knows. But he learned one thing forever, And he’ll damn sure forget it never: CHECK THE FUCKING AREA BEFORE THE RADAR GOES. [Outro] So raise your beer to Jason, King of radar-related lust, He’ll protect the whole damn airspace If his memory doesn’t bust. GM400 humming, Jason smiling ear to ear… Somebody check the safety shit— AND SOMEBODY HIDE HIS BEER.