Lawrence Hammond - Trucker's Nightmare lyrics

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