| I was out on the West Coast, tryin' to make a buck
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| And things didn’t work out, I was down on my luck
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| Got tired a-roamin' and bummin' around
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| So I started thumbin' back East, toward my home town
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| Made a lot of miles, the first two days
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| And I figured I’d be home in week, if my luck held out this way
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| But, the third night I got stranded, way out of town
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| At a cold, lonely crossroads, rain was pourin' down
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| I was hungry and freezin', done caught a chill
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| When the lights of a big semi topped the hill
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| Lord, I sure was glad to hear them air brakes come on
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| And I climbed in that cab, where I knew it’d be warm
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| At the wheel sit a big man, he weighed about two-ten
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| He stuck out his hand and said with a grin
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| «Big Joe’s the name», I told him mine
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| And he said: «The name of my rig is Phantom 309.»
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| I asked him why he called his rig such a name
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| He said: «Son, this old Mack can put 'em all to shame
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| There ain’t a driver, or a rig, a-runnin' any line
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| Ain’t seen nothin' but taillights from Phantom 309.»
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| Well, we rode and talked the better part of the night
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| When the lights of a truck stop came in sight
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| He said: «I'm sorry son, this is as far as you go
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| 'Cause, I gotta make a turn, just on up the road.»
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| Well, he tossed me a dime as he pulled her in low
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| And said: «Have yourself a cup on old Big Joe.»
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| When Joe and his rig roared out in the night
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| In nothin' flat, he was clean out of sight
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| Well, I went inside and ordered me a cup
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| Told the waiter Big Joe was settin' me up
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| Aw!, you coulda heard a pin drop, it got deathly quiet
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| And the waiter’s face turned kinda white
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| Well, did I say something wrong? |
| I said with a halfway grin
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| He said: «Naw, this happens every now and then
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| Ever' driver in here knows Big Joe
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| But son, let me tell you what happened about ten years ago
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| At the crossroads tonight, where you flagged him down
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| There was a bus load of kids, comin' from town
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| And they were right in the middle, when Big Joe topped the hill
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| It could have been slaughter, but he turned his wheel
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| Well, Joe lost control, went into a skid
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| And gave his life to save that bunch-a kids
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| And there at that crossroads, was the end of the line
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| For Big Joe and phantom 309
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| But, every now and then, some hiker’ll come by
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| And like you, Big Joe’ll give 'em a ride
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| Here, have another cup and forget about the dime
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| Keep it as a souvenir, from Big Joe and Phantom 309!" |