| It was just after dark
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| when the truck started down
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| the hill that leads into
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| Scranton, Pennsylvania
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| carrying 30, 000 pounds of bananas
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| carrying 30, 000 pounds (hit it, Big John!)
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| (of bananas)
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| He was a young driver
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| Just out on his second job
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| and he was carrying the next day’s pasty fruits
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| for everyone in that coal-scarred city
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| when children play without despair
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| in backyard slagpiles
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| and folks manage to eat each day
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| about 30, 000 pounds of bananas
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| Yes, just about 30, 000 pounds (scream it again, John!)
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| (of bananas)
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| He passed a sign that he should have seen
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| saying «Shift to low gear.
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| A fifty dollar fine, my friend!»
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| He was thinking, perhaps, about the warm-breathed woman
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| who was waiting at the journey’s end
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| He started down the two mile drop
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| the curving road that wound from the top of the hill.
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| He was pushing on through the shortening miles
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| that ran down to the depot.
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| Just a few more miles to go.
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| Then he’d go home and have her ease his long cramped day away
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| from the smell of 30, 000 pounds of bananas.
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| Yes, the smell of 30, 000 pounds of bananas.
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| He was picking up speed as the city spread
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| its twinkling lights below him.
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| But he paid no heed as the shivering thoughts
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| of the night’s delights went through him.
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| His foot nursed the brakes to slow him down,
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| but the pedal floored easy without a sound.
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| He said, «Christ!»
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| It was funny how he named
|
| the only man who could save him now.
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| He was trapped inside a dead-end hellslide.
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| Riding on his fear-hunched back
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| was every one of those yellow-green
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| I’m tellin' ya, 30, 000 pounds of bananas
|
| Yes, there were 30, 000 pounds of bananas.
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| He barely made the sweeping curve
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| that led into the steepest grade
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| And he missed the thankful passing bus
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| at ninety miles an hour!
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| And he said, «God, make it a dream!»
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| As he rode his last rack down.
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| He said, «God, make it a dream!»
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| As he rode his last rack down.
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| And he sideswiped nineteen neat parked cars
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| Clipped off thirteen telephone poles
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| Hit two houses, bruised eight trees,
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| and Blue Crossed seven people.
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| It was then he lost his head,
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| not to mention an arm or two, before he stopped.
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| And he smeared for four hundred yards
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| Along the hill that leads into Scranton, Pennsylvania.
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| Almost 30, 000 pounds
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| of bananas.
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| You know, the man who told me about it on the bus
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| as it went up the hill out of Scranton, Pennsylvania.
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| He shrugged his shoulders. |
| He shook his head.
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| And he said (and this is exactly what he said)
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| «Boy, it sure must have been something.
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| Just imagine 30, 000 pounds of bananas.
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| Yes, there were 30, 000 pounds
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| of mashed bananas.»
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| Of bananas
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| Just bananas
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| Thirty pounds
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| Of bananas
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| Not no driver now
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| Just bananas! |