Back in ’45 The Rochester was raised,
on the end of a dead-road street,
for the war-weary men who’d returned from killing a man (or two, or three…)
With time the old veterans made their peace,
and in moved a harder crowd:
criminals on bikes, dealing booze and drugs – one-percenters on the prowl.
On their backs they bore their names in leather:
THE DISCIPLES sprayed in white.
Wicked doesn’t begin to describe their style: Villainy taken to new heights.
They took their worse as their leader, a man known as The Snake,
who once too often’d crossed the line,
but as we’ll soon see, he would come to pay.
This take of bloody vengeance opens on one hot and wind-less day,
when a dark Rider arrived on an old two-wheel cafe.
Now, one thing you have to understand; The Disciples weren’t exactly predisposed to strangers,
but The Rider waltzed right through the door and made his way to their jukebox.
He seemed oblivious to the danger.
This wasn’t any jukebox. It was given to the old saloon (by a one-armed soldier).
He named it Judy, after his favorite whore,
and forever on, this was the name the Jukebox bore.
…but by now The Disciples had claimed her for their own,
and set a bounty down,
that to take a spin on Judy, your worth must be shown.
The stranger moseyed up to drop a dime in Judy’s slot,
but over came the The Snake to intervene.
There was no way he was about to let some stranger play on their machine!
“This here is Judy,” The Snake explained, “her job is to test your grit.”
(to this The Rider nodded) “You get one song to ride the The Rider … if you get my jist.”
“But pick wrong, or get back after she’d done, and you’ll be pushing Barley…”
“…if you know what I mean.”
The young Rider motioned to his left, where his old cafe racer was parked outside the door,
a rusty, worn-out machine faded by the sun, older than its rider by ten years or more.
They all laughed at his old heap. All except The Snake…
For just a moment he thought he recognized the bike,
as one belonging to a long-dead companion,
but this, he knew, could not be. For it was he who had caused the wreck that had killed the man.
At any rate, the needle dropped, and Judy began her song,
and they all knew, exactly, what was going on.
With a cloud of dust and stone, The Rider was off for deadman’s tunnel.
He rode fast and he rode hard,
past the pen, and past the yard,
down ‘cross the state line, out to where the dead men are
(his needle hittin’ nine)
He rode to avenge his father. He rode for his family.
He rode to massacre the man who’d caused him so much agony.
But most of all, he rode to put his father’s soul to rest.
When Judy was done singin,’ the men returned to their drinking’
just as sone song was fading’ out.

 

Lyrics by Matt Bobbitt and Daniel Guzman & Trevor Klicker
Melody by Sager Small and Daniel Guzman and Matt Bobbitt
Vocals: Nick Spencer
Guitar/Bass: Sager Small
Drums: Justin Guzman
Produced by Daniel Guzman & Matt Bobbitt
Published by Tangent Recording & Publishing
Recorded at Suite 217, Suite 218