Ry Cooder - The Dying Truck Driver lyrics

Well, we made our way up 99 in the springtime of the year The San Joaquin was all in bloom, and songbirds everywhere We chanced upon a workingman, lying by the road I judged him for a truck driver by the clothes he wore We drew some nearer to him then, inquirin' of his name Well, here's three little angels come down for to carry me home Then, bear me up to Jesus now, my Savior I shall see You ain't no regular angels, boys, but that's alright by me Then Lefty, stepping forward, addressed the dyin' man Saying, We're no angels, brother, but we'll do all we can What cowards set upon you, sir, and dealt the fatal blow? We'll pull out every workingman from here to Ohio It was no vigilante gang, nor ranch-boss thugs this time But the meatloaf special dinner I had on Highway 99 A comely waitress served me there, and she cooled me with her fan But fatal meatloaf has struck down this old truck drivin' man Then Lefty reached down in his bag, saying, You ain't dyin', friend Just take a drink of whiskey now, you'll feel alright again All through the night we lingered there and pa**ed that bottle round We hauled aboard at sunrise, lit out for Frisco town Now, the workingman must be we'll warned whenever headlines scream "Your rights must yield, the bombs must fall to save democracy" The flag they fly, their stew of lies served up at votin' time Like poison under the gravy on Highway 99