Transmission Suds

Lyrics

(Verse 1)
Loaded up the bed of my F-1-5-0,
With a greasy old beast from long ago.
’47 Ford Deluxe gave up the ghost,
So I yanked the trans—she was fried like toast.
Jax in the cab, tail thumpin’ fast,
Sniffin’ the air like we’re haulin' a mast.
I said, “Hold tight, boy, this ain't no parade—
We’re takin’ this relic for a high-pressure spray!”
(Chorus)
Don't bring that thing to the car wash,
That trans is cursed with a century’s slosh!
Gears and grime flyin’ through the air,
Now Jax is wearin’ soap in his hair!
Manager’s screamin’, hoses jammed,
My truck bed’s now a greasy dam!
Don’t bring that thing to the car wash—
Unless you like your pressure washer banned!
(Verse 2)
Slid four quarters in with a devilish grin,
Popped the tailgate, let the flood begin.
Jax howled loud, “WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”
I said, “History, son—straight outta car hell.”
I hit it with foam, then switched to blast,
Degreaser flyin’, we were movin’ fast.
Transmission coughed like a beast reborn,
Till a mount bolt shot and took out the horn.
(Chorus)
Don't bring that thing to the car wash,
It’ll turn your bay into a junkyard mosh!
Clutches clankin’, fluid runs red,
Jax just slipped on a gasket head!
Gunk flew wide, and suds rose high,
F-150 shakin’ like it wants to fly!
Don’t bring that thing to the car wash—
Or you’ll clean out your dignity too!
(Bridge)
Manager (angrily): “Sir… you brought a what?”
Gerry (calm): “Came outta a ’47 Deluxe. Three-speed. Bad seals.”
Manager: “This is a car wash, not a medieval engine bay.”
Jax: “BALL?”
Manager: “No, that’s a planetary gear—GET OUT!”
Jax: “WEIRD BALL!”
(Verse 3)
We backed out slow with foam in tow,
Transmission clean, but the shame did grow.
The bed was slick, the tailgate bent,
And I owe that place a cement vent.
But back in the shop, Jax gave a nod,
We wiped that trans down like a gift from God.
And sure enough, when it met that frame—
It shifted smooth, and barked my name!
(Final Chorus)
Don’t bring that thing to the car wash,
’47 steel don’t do a rinse-and-toss!
Scrub it in the yard, wear your worst shoes,
Or risk making the local news!
Gerry and Jax, grease-stained pride,
Banned from six car washes nationwide!
Don’t bring that thing to the car wash—
Just own the mess, and wash it in stride!
(Outro)
“Next time... we’re usin’ the garden hose.”
“Ball?”