Them old red veins on a trucker's eyeballs that's a road map of his soul
Drive a million miles, you get a case of the piles, they make you feel like you're sittin' 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 and I call up the company fella
And he says "You ain't paid to gab, son, you better get back in your cab, son
If you wanna 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 a road map of his soul
Drive a million miles you get a case of the piles, they 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.
Well, I'm crossin' old Green River, my front end starts to shiver
My piston head takes off for San Antone
When I look beneath the hood, kick my logbook in the mud
Rip that dipstick from its hole and stab it through some cactus-pole
'Cause there's 18 quarts of black oil on the road
Buddy, that ain't no joke
Seven 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 racoon and there's a spark plug for a spoon
I got eighteen flat tires rumblin' way down in my stomach grumblin'
By the time that diesel's finally set to cruise
I also got me a bad case of after ignition
Now at last they got me rollin', it's a day late as I'm haulin' poppin' bennies, wide-eyeballin'
But my eyelids get 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, "a-which one was your stash, man?"
And that hippie looked at me and he said
"Mister, I, I don't know how to tell you this
But, man, 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 fellows, get me off, for this rig's brakes are goin' right down to the boards"
And that's when I kicked the blankets on the floor
Them old red vein on a trucker's eyeballs that's the road map of his soul
Drive a million miles you get a case of the piles, they 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
Yeah, I woke up last night, my wife Agnes, she was screamin' while I was dreamin'
And I don't blaim her too much though cause I had a d**h grip on her big toe
I was tryin' to downshift it into compound low
My left foot was on her navel, I was only tryin' to double clutch
She rolled over and she says to me
"Lawrence, you get yourself out of this truck driving business
Or you get yourself some professional help"
Been around California long enough to know what that means
One of them primal truck driving workshops