I drive a broke-down rig with "may-pop" tires

Forty foot of overload

A lot of people say 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

Non-stop down to Dallas

Poppin' them West Coast turnarounds



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

The turnpikes they may freeze

But they don't bother ole 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 turnarounds



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



One day I looke into my rear-view mirror

And a-comin' up from behind

There was a Georgia state policeman

And a hundred dollar fine

Well he look me in the eye as he was writin' me up

And said, "Driver, you been flyin'"

And, "Ninety-five is the route you were on

It was not the speed limit sign."



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



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