I drive a broke-down rig with "may-pop" tires
Forty foot of overload
A lot of people say 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
Non-stop down to Dallas
Poppin' them West Coast turnarounds
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' a rig like that
You know the rain may blow
The snow may snow
The turnpikes they may freeze
But they don't bother ole 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 cupful of cold black coffee
And a pocketful of West Coast turnarounds
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' a rig like that
One day I looke into my rear-view mirror
And a-comin' up from behind
There was a Georgia state policeman
And a hundred dollar fine
Well he look me in the eye as he was writin' me up
And said, "Driver, you been flyin'"
And, "Ninety-five is the route you were on
It was not the speed limit sign."
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' a rig like that
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' a rig like that
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