[Spoken Word Intro]
Outside Tucumcari.
Rental truck, paint stripped, tires close to failing.
Driver says it’s a moving job.
It's clearly not.

[Verse 1]
One-day contract.
To cross the state line.
Latch drops.
No household goods inside.
Drums stacked to the ceiling.
Plastic torn, heavy powder exposed.
Yellowcake, baby.

[Chorus]
Yellowcake mule, interstate haul.
Not cocaine, not meth, not street contraband
Powder for the core, driven in daylight.
Truck rolls west. Nothing stops it.

[Verse 2]
Libya, two-thousand-eleven.
Concrete yard, barrels left in rows.
A thousand tons in storage.
Fence pulled down.
Inspectors went in.
Counted drum by drum.
Ten were missing.
Five were found outside,
abandoned in the open,
left without guard.

[Bridge]
Not contraband.
Wages measured in uranium.
Loaded at night.
Routes not recorded.
Hidden hand fuel cycle sustains.
The I-A-E-A looks away.
Police say nothing.
Wrong kind of crime.
Freight moves west.
Looks like moving day.

[Chorus]
Yellowcake mule, interstate haul.
Not cocaine, not meth, not street contraband
Powder for the core, driven in daylight.
Truck rolls west. Nothing stops it.

[Outro]
Truck keeps moving.
Highway takes it in.
No mercy.
No break.
Only weight.

[Echo Fade]
Yellowcake Mule…
Yellowcake Mule…
Yellowcake Mule…