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I drive a broke-down rig on "may-pop" tires
Forty foot of overload
A lot of people say that I'm crazy
Because I don't know how to take it slow
I got a broomstick on the throttle
I got her opened up and head right down
Nonstop back to Dallas
Poppin' them West Coast turnarounds
CHORUS
And they call me Speedball, Speedball Tucker
Terror of the highways, and all them other truckers
Will tell you that the boy is mad
To be drivin' in a rig like that
You know the rain may blow, the snow may snow
The turnpikes, they may freeze
But they don't bother old Speedball
He goin' any damn way he please
He got a broomstick on the throttle
To keep his throttle foot a-dancin' 'round
With a cup full of cold black coffee
And a pocketful of West Coast turnarounds
(CHORUS)
One day I looked into my rear-view mirror
And comin' up from behind
There was a Georgia state policeman
And a hundred dollar fine
Well he looked me in the eye as he was writin' me up
He said, "Driver, you've been flyin'
And ninety-five was the route you were on
It was not the speed limit sign."
(CHORUS 2X)
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