The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.
The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.
Chrome old prophet.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.
Carry the dream.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.
The singer has the microphone.
The singer has the hair.
The guitarist has the pedalboard
And half the county’s air.
The drummer has the gas receipt.
The bass player has the floor.
The wizard has seventeen wires
Coming out the door.
But the van has the thunder.
The van has the scars.
The van has the smell
Of six collapsing stars.
The van has the schedule.
The van has the load.
The van has the mercy
To forgive one more road.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.
The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
No wheels.
No go.
No wheels.
No go.
No doors.
No drums.
No seats.
No bums.
No gas.
No lights.
No ride.
No night.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.
Jack-AL heard “real frontman”
As “wheel grunt man.”
Now the caption has a tire
With a beard and a plan.
Jack-AL heard “carry the dream”
As “marry the steam.”
Now the radiator’s engaged
To a highway queen.
No.
No.
That is not the lyric.
That is not the truth.
But the van is already coughing
Like it heard its youth.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.
The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.
It knows every pothole.
It knows every toll.
It knows every drummer
Who paid with his soul.
It knows every singer
Who said, “I’ll be quick.”
It knows every guitarist
Who brought one more stick.
It knows every keyboard
That would not fit right.
It knows every bass amp
That slept there all night.
It knows every side door,
Every alley, every bar.
It knows every argument
About who rode too far.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the cables.
Carry the scene.
The singer says, “The crowd loves me.”
The van says, “I got you here.”
The guitarist says, “My tone is sick.”
The van says, “So is my rear.”
The drummer says, “We need oil.”
The singer says, “After the show.”
The van says, “That was yesterday.”
The drummer says, “I know.”
The bass player sits quiet
By the emergency jack.
The wizard guards a keyboard
That is digging in his back.
The side door saint is wedged
Between merch and destiny.
The sound guy stares out the window
Judging all of history.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.
The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
Everybody knows.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
If the van says no,
The whole night goes.
It has duct tape on the mirror.
It has prayers in the dash.
It has old french fries fossilized
Beside emergency cash.
It has one door that opens.
It has one door that lies.
It has a heater from the underworld
And questionable ties.
It has a smell like thunder.
It has a cough like truth.
It has a bumper sticker ghost
From someone else’s youth.
It has carpet from another life.
It has stains with names.
It has heard more bad decisions
Than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.
The singer takes the picture.
The van carries the frame.
The guitarist takes the solo.
The van carries the shame.
The drummer takes the blame.
The van carries the proof.
The bass player takes the low road.
The van carries the roof.
The wizard takes the portal.
The van carries the smoke.
Jack-AL takes the wrong words.
The van carries the joke.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
The singer rides shotgun.
The wheels know the setlist.
The wheels know the setlist.
The engine knows the run.
The engine knows the run.
One.
Two.
Turn the key.
Three.
Four.
Pray with me.
Five.
Six.
Cough and shake.
Seven.
Eight.
Not today.
Nine.
Ten.
Try again.
Everybody push.
Everybody bend.
One.
Two.
Turn the key.
Three.
Four.
Mercy please.
Five.
Six.
Engine screams.
Seven.
Eight.
Still got dreams.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it will not start,
Nobody sings.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
If it coughs once,
The whole band clings.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
No van.
No show.
Everybody knows.
Chrome old prophet.
Rust old king.
Carry the speakers.
Carry the dream.
The van is the real frontman.
The van is the real frontman.
The singer rides shotgun.
But the van runs the thing.
