[ Предположительная тональность: F#m ] SPEEDBALL TUCKER Words and music by Jim Croce I drive a <E7>broke-down rig on "may-pop" tires <A7>Forty foot of over<E7>load A lot of people say that I'm crazy Because I <A7>don't know how to take it <E7>slow I got a <E7>broomstick on the throttle I got her <A7>opened up and head right <E7>down <C#m7>Nonstop back to <A7>Dallas Poppin' them <E7>West Coast <B7>turnarounds<E7> CHORUS: And they call me <A7>Speedball, Speedball Tucker <E7>Terror of the highways, and all them other truckers Will <C#m7>tell you that the boy is <A7>mad To be <E7>drivin' in a <B7>rig like <E7>that You know the rain may blow, the snow may snow The turnpikes, they may freeze But they don't bother old 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 cup full of cold black coffee And a pocketful of West Coast turnarounds (CHORUS) One day I looked into my rear-view mirror And 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 He said, "Driver, you've been flyin' And ninety-five was the route you were on It was not the speed limit sign." (CHORUS 2X)