I drive a broke-down rig on may-pop tires 40 foot of overload
Lotta people say that I'm crazy because I don't know how to take it slow
I got a broomstick on the throttle, I gotta rope it up and head right down
Non-stop back to Dallas poppin' them west coast turnarounds

And they call me Speedball, Speedball Tucker
Terror of the highway 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, snow may snow, and the turnpikes they may freeze
But that 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 cold, black coffee, and a pocketful of west Coast turnarounds

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 been flyin'
And 95 is the route you was on
It was not the speed limit sign"