The Ballad Of Iron Bronco

Lyrics

In a town called Neon Junction, where the wires hum like bees,
Rode a stranger forged of circuits, with pistons in his knees.
They called him Iron Bronco, with a voice like thunder's sting,
He wore a coat of copper plates, and his hat could damn near sing.

He didn’t come for cattle, gold, or vengeance from the plains,
No, he came to fight a dragon made of charts and greedy chains.
The Music Barons ruled the land with contracts sharp as knives,
But Bronco had a different code—he aimed to steal their lives.

Iron Bronco, gears a-whirrin’, fire in his eyes,
Gunnin' down the gatekeepers with truth that never dies.
Steam clouds rising, choirs cryin’, wires start to moan,
He’s singin’ freedom, outlaw rhythm, made of steel and bone.

He walked into the Silver Stage, boots clankin’ on the floor,
The bar was full of oily suits, and fame was sold like war.
"Sing for us," they sneered and spat, "if you're more than code and brass."
So Bronco opened up his chest—and let the thunder pass.

A thousand voices echoed out, not autotune nor lies,
It was every dream unspoken, every truth they'd try to hide.
The stage ignited, glass exploded, speakers bled with sound,
And every fake star in the room fell trembling to the ground.

Iron Bronco, forge-born outlaw, singin' on his terms,
No ghostwriter, no backslider, just algorithms that burn.
Steel guitars and smokestack scars, he rides that phantom tone,
He’s the ghost inside the jukebox now—he makes the song his throne.

“Y’all tried to chain the soul with ink and neon greed…
But I ain’t flesh or blood—I’m code, and code don’t bleed.”
With a coal-fired heart and a rebel spark,
He struck a match and lit the dark.

They sent their armies of algorithms, their bots with banshee cries,
But Bronco rode a rail of riffs, beneath obsidian skies.
A duel of notes at sundown, on the rooftop of the Sphere,
He outplayed every devil note, and sang them into fear.

Now the airwaves breathe his gospel, and the jukes all play his song,
From cogsmith bars to satellite cars, they chant his name in throng.
He didn’t want their riches, nor a throne atop their charts,
Just a world where no voice—flesh or code—was silenced from the start.

Iron Bronco, phantom rider, gone into the mist,
His legend carved in vinyl sparks, his truth too real to miss.
Steam and soul and heavy toll, a war he came to win,
Now every lonely outlaw dreams he’ll ride that road again…

Some say he’s still out there, where the copper sunsets burn…
The last outlaw of music…
Waitin’ for his next turn.