(Liberally adapted from lyrics originally written by F. Iommi, W. Ward, T. Butler., and J. Osbourne.)
(Inspired by Sioux City, Iowa.)
I am Tire Man!
Has he lost his grip?
Can he even last this trip?
Can he drive at all
Or is he running bald?
Is he full of dread?
Saw his brother blow his tread
Wurman left him there
Will Herb toss him for a spare?
He turns with the wheel
Until his tread begins to peel
When he traveled roads
In search of great tornadoes
Nobody wants him
He just sits pavement bound
Waiting for the storms
Waiting for rain to pound
We can’t keep him now
He won’t work for the DOW
Perils of the road
Taunt the radars he once drove
Nobody wants him
They just drive on by
Nobody helps him
He’s a road hazard now
Heavy rubber treads
Fill the traffic full of dread
Driving as fast as they can
Tire Man lives again!
Bohica! The ROTATE armada is Boulder bound, en route to make repairs and celebrate* our "1st clear air bust of the season."
* Sarcasm.
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