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' in 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 coal black coffee And a pocketful of West Coast turn-arounds
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 And said, "Driver, you've been flyin'!" "And ninety five was the route you were on, it was not the speed limit sign."