TRUCKER'S NIGHTMARE

Them old red veins on a trucker's eyeballs
that's the road map of his soul
Drive a million miles, you get a case of the piles
Make you feel like you're settin' on a cactus-pole
But when you been home a week, your old lady squeaks
'Cause you're trying' to downshift her arm in your sleep,
You're rollin' down that run called Trucker's Nightmare.

About 40 miles south of Boise my engine's getting' noisy,
Got that 'bout-to-throw-a-rod mean cussin' whine.
So I stop at Pocatello, call up the comany-fella
He says "You ain't paid to gab, son, better get back in your cad, son,
If you wanta get paid at this end of the line.

So I hop back in that diesel that I always call the Weasel
For the way it sneaks into the left hand lane.
When that Weasel flicks his tail, nicks my trailer on the rail,
Short circuits burn my nerves every time she takes the curves
From tryin' to make that diesel mind the reins.

Them old red veins on a truckers eyeballs
That's the road map of his soul.
Drive a million miles you get a case of the piles
Make you feel like your settin' on a cactus-pole.
But when you been home a week, your old lady squeaks
'cause you're trying' to downshift her arm in your sleep
You're rollin' down that run called Trucker's Nightmare.

Now I'm crossin' old Green River, mu front end starts to shiver
My piston head takes off for San Antone.
When I look beneath the hood, throw my log-book in the mud
I rip that dip-stick from its hole and stab it through some cactus-pole
'Cause there's 18 quarts of black oil on the road.

7 hours waitin' for the tow-truck in a truck stop called The Roadblock
Where the waitress serves up something called a stew.
It tastes like deep-fat fried raccoon and there's a spark plug for a spoon.
My insides gets to rumblin' way down in my stomach grumblin'
Before that diesel's finally set to cruise
(I also got me a bad case of after-ignition)

Now at last they got me rollin', and it's a day-late ass I'm haulin'
Poppin' bennies, wide-eyeballin"
But my engine gets to stallin'

So I stop to pick up a hippie, fool enough to hitch-hike in Mississippi
Somebody's got to prop my eyeballs open wide.
But he ain't much for talking', and that Sandman gets to walking'
So I reach up on the dash and, "which one was your stash, man?"
(and that hippie looked at me and said, "I don't know how to tell you this man,
But that weren't no bennie you just swallowed down inside."

Now there ain't no controlling' when Ezekiel's wheel gets rollin'
And on a downhill curve my mind rolled out the door.
I know that dotted white line's there, but I can't see it anywhere.
I pray to God and Jimmy Hoffa, "Please fellas, get me offa this rig's
brakes are join' right down to the boards.
And that's when I fling the blankets on the floor

Them old red vein on a trucker's eyeballs
That;s the road map of his soul
Drive million miles you get a case of the piles
Make you feel like your setting' on a cactus-pole.
But when you been home a week, your old lady squeaks
'Cause you're trying' to downshift her arm in your sleep
You're rollin' down that run
You're rollin down that run
You're rollin' down that run called Trucker's Nightmare

Originally Performed by: Lawrence Hammond
Album: Coyote's Dream
Lyrics By: Lawrence Hammond

ALL SONGS MUSIC AND LYRICS COPYRIGHT
BY LAWRENCE HAMMOND
DESERT JEWEL SONGS BMI