Speedball Tucker Lyrics by Jim Croce

Speedball Tucker

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 turn-arounds

[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' a rig like that

You know the rain may blow
The snow may snow
And the turnpikes they may freeze
But they don't bother ol' 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 turn-arounds

Chorus

One day I looked into my rear view mirror
And a-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
"driver you been Blind?"
"Ninety-nine was the route you were on it ewas not the speed limit sign."