This is the way that it was.
Just as far back as I can remember,
I was always hanging around a
drafty old garage,
getting grease on my hands and feet,
smelling the exhaust
and watching my dad and brothers
tear down an old truck or Model T,
picking up a wore out fan belt
or some other kind of souvenirs.
Only one thing on my mind,
man, I was dying to dig into them gears.
So when I was old enough
to get my driver's license and permit,
I chucked it all.
Quit the 11th grade,
went into debt to get my first rig.
Skipped town several hundred
bucks in arrears.
Headed down the open highway,
eating that concrete coming my way.
Brother, I had it made.
At long last I was jammin' gears
I got to know all the spots
along the way
And they got to know me
I courted the waitresses and the cashiers
I had a line that wouldn't quit
I was king of the highway
A self -admitted heartbreaker on wheels
They treated me to the coffee
And I treated them to the beers
Them gals couldn't figure out
What went on inside my head
How could they when you and I know
There ain't nothin' in this old
noggin'
Except maybe some gears
Finally set my sights on a
pretty little thing
South of Ardmore
Every time I pulled away from her place
I had to face a whole parcel of her tears
So I says,
hon, if you don't like my leavin'
Then you just pack your little old bag
And jump on board
Ain't nobody gonna stop you
if you wanna flag my rig
Watch old daddy make her swing
And for some pretty music,
just listen to the hummin' of my gears.
Well, I ditched her down in Brownsville.
Told her my run
would bring me back in a week or two.
Man, I was fed up,
clean to my ears.
Love them and leave them
was my motto.
I had tracks to make,
so I flew the coop.
Turned old Ginny around
and headed north.
This time I mean to tell you
I was really pushing them gears.
Latched on to another
up in Kokomo.
This looked like the real thing
so I popped the question quick.
That's what you gotta do
whenever old Ann Cupid appears.
We tied the knot
and rented a place up the road.
She didn't seem to mind
my leaving near as much as I did.
I just made sure that none of my runs
took me near Brownsville
cause that and down there could surely
recognize the sound of my gears.
Well, you know that old saying,
that bad nickel always reappears.
Next night when I got home,
there was Brownsville
sitting across from my wife.
The wife was crying,
the other not saying nothing.
Nothing now, that is.
And don't you know
she had said plenty already.
What with all the lies she had piled
up on top of the truth.
She just sat there silent
like her face all covered with smears.
I couldn't say nothing either
cause inside my head
something had already started spinning.
They was roaring and they was grinding
and all of a sudden
I was at the wheel.
We was in a blizzard
and a sandstorm at the same time.
We was headed down
Baker's Ridge
wide open
and the brakes was gone.
The horns and the sirens
was blasting my head off.
The hood flew off
and the motor opened up right in my face.
I was diving head first right straight into them whirling,
grinding, spinning, greasy gears.
Well, that's all of my
story, Mr. Reporter.
Just tell them I'm real sorry
for what I done.
Think it'll come out in the papers
before that old warden appears?
If it's worth anything to you,
just give it to my widow.
Don't know where she is.
Just check the truck stops
between here and Kokomo.
That'll be her sitting there
over a couple of beers.
And that guy that's buying them,
I'll lay you a million to one.
He ain't nothing but a crazy
mixed -up dropout
That run away from home
To make his fortune eatin' concrete
And jammin' them galding, greasy gears