THE ROAD DON'T CALL ME NO MORE
My truck broke down and I’m not far behind.
I must admit, I’m no longer the traveling kind.
For the last dozen years, the road’s been taking me down,
cutting me into pieces and grinding me into the ground.
My body’s gone roque, it left me some years ago.
I’d love to have some of it back
but unfortunately, body parts don’t regrow once hacked.
I’ve lost a finger here, a part of my big toe there;
I ride my brakes too hard and pop my clutch without fear.
We truckers, always in a rush, get the containers from A to Z
now that they’re on land and no longer at sea.
We truckers, we make the economy run;
one of the most patriotic job under the sun.
I drive a “big” dog, it’s been an honor you see.
For the last thirty years, my rig’s been a part of me.
It’s the marrow in my bones, my best company.
When I’m traveling alone, other than my wife,
the road’s been the total of my life.
How many birthdays and anniversaries have I missed;
that tender caress, that goodnight kiss?
There’s a price for everything, this I’ve always been told,
even more now that I’m old.
I’m writing the last few chapters of my log book,
why don’t you stay a bit longer and gander a look?
The road don’t call me no more, the miles have taken their toll.
I started as a young man and now have grown very old.
I wouldn’t change the work that I’ve already done,
this is now my swan song; this is my last run.
One final dance down the highway, I’m pulling seven ton,
from Boston, to Gary, then on to San Antonio.
The road don’t call me no more.
I’m kissing my rig goodbye,
I’m finally staying home.
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