The Dying Truck Driver Lyrics - Cooder Ry

Well, we made our way up 99 in the springtime of the year 

The San Joaquin was all in bloom, and songbirds everywhere 

We chanced upon a workingman, lying by the road 

I judged him for a truck driver by the clothes he wore 

We drew some nearer to him then, inquirin' of his name 

Well, here's three little angels come down for to carry me home 

Then, bear me up to Jesus now, my Savior I shall see 

You ain't no regular angels, boys, but that's alright by me 

Then Lefty, stepping forward, addressed the dyin' man 

Saying, We're no angels, brother, but we'll do all we can 

What cowards set upon you, sir, and dealt the fatal blow? 

We'll pull out every workingman from here to Ohio 

It was no vigilante gang, nor ranch-boss thugs this time 

But the meatloaf special dinner I had on Highway 99 

A comely waitress served me there, and she cooled me with her fan 

But fatal meatloaf has struck down this old truck drivin' man 

Then Lefty reached down in his bag, saying, You ain't dyin', friend 

Just take a drink of whiskey now, you'll feel alright again 

All through the night we lingered there and passed that bottle round 

We hauled aboard at sunrise, lit out for Frisco town 

Now, the workingman must be we'll warned whenever headlines scream 

"Your rights must yield, the bombs must fall to save democracy" 

The flag they fly, their stew of lies served up at votin' time 

Like poison under the gravy on Highway 99