Hotwire Sermon (ZZ Top - FanSong)

Copper sun hanging over the yard, Old doors open and the ground baked hard. One loose cable sparks against the wall, Then a six-string answers like a midnight call. Grease on my fingers, dust on my boots, Amp in the corner with a box full of tubes. Plug that thing in, give the switch a turn, First chord hits and the whole room burns. HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT SPEAK! HOTWIRE SERMON! LOW AND DEEP! TWO GUITARS CUTTING THROUGH, ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR YOU! HOTWIRE SERMON! HARD AND SLOW! LIGHT THAT WIRE AND LET IT GO! Old fan turning but it ain't doing much, Sweat on the strings and rust to the touch. Bass comes crawling under every note, Drummer hits the snare like he means every stroke. Nobody dressed up, nobody came clean, There's oil on the floor and smoke on the screen. But when that riff leans into the room, Even the loose glass starts moving in tune. HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT SPEAK! HOTWIRE SERMON! LOW AND DEEP! TWO GUITARS CUTTING THROUGH, ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR YOU! HOTWIRE SERMON! HARD AND SLOW! LIGHT THAT WIRE AND LET IT GO! Out past the highway there's a weathered bar, One broken sign and three trucks in the yard. We carried the amps through the kitchen door, Set them down heavy on a crooked wooden floor. First guitar growled. Second one bit. Bass found a pocket and stayed right in it. Nobody moved for the first four bars, Then boots started knocking under tables at the bar. No fancy lighting, no polished stage, Just heat rolling off every chord that we made. A woman by the doorway started tapping her heel, Then the whole back room caught onto the feel. HOTWIRE SERMON! TURN IT HIGH! HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT FLY! SLIDE THAT STRING! BEND THAT NOTE! MAKE THAT OLD AMPLIFIER SMOKE! HOTWIRE SERMON! ROUGH AND TRUE! LET THAT RIFF COME STRAIGHT THROUGH! The lights went low when the main line tripped, But the drummer kept time and nobody quit. One small lamp burned red by the bar, Enough to see the neck of the guitar. So we played it darker, played it mean, Left more space in between. Bass down low, snare like a crack, Then the lead guitar came tearing back. Six strings climbing, falling again, Long notes hanging over the bend. Slide answers low from the opposite side, Two dirty guitars on the same hard ride. The power came back with a flash overhead, Nobody cheered, we just played instead. Because once that groove gets under your skin, You don't need anybody to tell you when. HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT SPEAK! HOTWIRE SERMON! LOW AND DEEP! TWO GUITARS CUTTING THROUGH, ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR YOU! HOTWIRE SERMON! TURN IT LOOSE! GIVE THAT OLD BACKBEAT NO EXCUSE! HOTWIRE SERMON! ONE MORE ROUND! KEEP THAT BASS DOWN UNDERGROUND! NO GOLDEN ROOM! NO PERFECT LIGHT! JUST HOT WIRES AND A SOUND DONE RIGHT! HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT ROLL! HOTWIRE SERMON! LET IT BURN! LAST CHORD HANGING IN THE AIR... THEN WE PLUG IT IN AGAIN.