| The cab is in shambles, the bearings are shot
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| The tires are more than well worn.
|
| The trailers are buckled, the skid plates are bent
|
| All tarps are discoloured and torn.
|
| The are no dogs and chains just a bag of old ropes
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| All knotted, to short and to frayed.
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| And it looks like the outfit has never been washed
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| Since the day when the gear was first made.
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| There are four broken side lights, a broken tool box
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| The mud flaps are gone from the rear.
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| The floor boards are missing, the U-bolts are loose
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| Not at all what you call first class gear.
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| From the mud and the dust inches deep on the wheel
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| I can see hard work written thereon.
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| One look underneath at that oil splattered sump
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| And I know every oil seal has gone.
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| How many hundreds of tons has it hauled,
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| And how many roads does it know
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| This truck once was some truck jockeys joy
|
| Ah. |
| but that was a long time ago
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| It lies here a wreck and they rob it for spares
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| It will soon be devoured by rust
|
| Or some bulldozer driver will bury it deep
|
| In its shroud of mud, grease and bulldust
|
| The cab is in shambles, the bearings are shot
|
| The tires are more than well worn.
|
| The trailers are buckled, the skid plates are bent
|
| All tarps are discoloured and torn. |