Words and Music: © 2008 by Tom Smith
There's an ongoing culture war... to determine whether zombies, pirates, or ninjas are "the new black." I've done songs about zombies and pirates; time to fill out the shelf. I also just like the idea of loud ninja. I mean, why does anyone ever go in costume as a ninja? You're not supposed to be able to see 'em. How do we even know what they look like? A true ninja would look like my mom, only maybe with less Aqua Net.
Way up in the Ozarks where the trees are thick and green,
There's a gifted band of warriors the world ain't never seen.
They live their lives in shadow, cuttin' throats and setting traps,
They die for family honor and they buy their beer from Pabst.
Beware the Redneck ninjas, who come out after dark,
We skulk around the truck stop and we stalk the trailer park.
Black overalls and baseball caps hide us in the night --
At least they would if our socks and skin weren't so pasty white.
We ain't got fancy clothes or weapons, just what we can grab,
Like shuriken cut from beer cans and caltrops from pull tabs.
For swords we sharpen up machetes, breakin' all the laws,
Our blowguns come from Steak 'n' Shake, they've got the biggest straws.
Beware the Redneck Ninjas, 'cause we've learned to improvise,
Confederate flags conceal our faces and keep out the flies.
We make our stinging gas bombs with Tabasco in balloons --
Heck, half our gear's inspired by old Road Runner cartoons.
Hear now the tale of the final great battle between Clan Cabela and Clan Bigfoot.
For many years the clans had fought their secret hidden wars,
For honor, gold and glory, and dibs on the hardware stores.
It mostly was just dirty tricks, they never came to blows,
Till one day on their border was a brand new shiny Lowe's.
Bigfoot lords found taxidermied beavers in their beds;
Whatever flattened Cabela's camp had big ol' honkin' treads.
It mighta broke down then and there if not for cooler heads --
They chose to hold the tournament that every ninja dreads.
The terrible, the dangerous, most extreme event of them all.
A ninja competition, each side would pick one man
To represent the spirit and the honor of the clan.
Cabela picked Ted Nugent, with longbow and guitar,
And Bigfoot chose TruckZilla, who ate Ted Nugent's car.
The Nuge, he calmly got TruckZilla right there in his sights;
He knocked off all his mirrors and he shot out all his lights.
Truckzilla thrashed around until his engine up and died,
And fell right through an outhouse that was, sadly, occupied.
The outhouse door swung open, Truckzilla had barely missed
The champion of Clan NASCAR, and he was doubly pissed.
So now it was a three-way dance, but before they could cut loose,
Right in front of 'em, a beer truck smashed into a wayward moose.
Ol' Ted nailed a guitar riff as he closed in for the kill,
The NASCAR pinned that rig between Truckzilla and his grille,
They declared a truce over Buds and moose smoked brisket barbecue,
And vowed to work together against the dread clan Sudoku.
So now we stand united, till our enemies are gone.
If you hear "Dueling Banjos", then there's duelin' goin' on.
If our shogun says "Git 'er done", there won't be nothin' left,
So beware the Redneck Ninjas, the Good Ol' Boys of Death!