Look on the horizon
What do my eyes behold?
Is that a herd of bison
Or a convoy rolling bold?
Could that be my old master
And all his princely crew,
Who ran from the disaster
That they put us peasants through,
They put us peasants through?

Who else would roll so proudly
Across this blasted land?
Who else would bitch so loudly
On every channel band?
Now do they think that no one
Could stay out here alive,
Or did they think us low ones
Were too stupid to survive,
Too stupid to survive?

Why did they leave their bunkers
They built so long ago?
Did they come forth to conquer,
Or did their food run low?
Their wheels so sleek and bossy,
All stuffed with high-tech gear,
No longer look so glossy
After driving long out here,
Driving long out here

For what looks good in planning
May not be built to last
Tech toys wore out with manning
Replacements went out fast
But salesman's smart assurance
Won't hold you up in hell
Survival means endurance,
And we've learned that lesson well,
We've learned that lesson well

For when they fled the city
And left us to our fate,
No panic and no pity,
Nor did we stand and wait,
But jumped up and, unguarded,
We looted for our tools
We may have been discarded,
But that didn't make us fools,
That didn't make us fools

So come on, dear old master,
And see what's waiting here
Our wheels can roll the faster
For lack of fragile gear
We've stripped down to essentials
Of armor, wheels, and gun
Don't send me your credentials;
This is no computer run,
No computer run

No radar for your jamming,
No lasers to deflect
Just armor made for ramming
And bullets worth respect
No comps for your misquoting,
No optics to distrust
Your chips are overloading,
And your laser eats my dust,
Your laser eats my dust

Now one of you is burning
Another's punctured well
A third is overturning
A fourth is blown to hell
The fifth is losing power
The sixth has lost a wheel
This fate won't last the hour
Tell me, master, will you deal,
Master, will you deal?

I'll leave you live and walking
As much as you left me!
Surrender or quit talking;
Choose death or poverty
Ah, you're running like the others!
My guns come up to line!
Your friends can face my brothers,
Master, your sweet ass is mine,
Your sweet ass is mine