C.W. McCall - Wolf Creek Pass | Текст песни

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• C.W. McCall
• Wolf Creek Pass

Me an' Earl was haulin' chickens,
On the flatbed{1} out o' Wiggins{2},
An' we'd spent all night on the uphill side,
O' thirty-seven miles o' hell called Wolf Crick Pass{3},
Which is up on the Great Divide.

We's a-settin' there suckin' toothpicks,
An' drinkin' Nehis{4} an' onion soup mix.
An' I says, "Earl, let's mail a card to Mother,
Then sen' them chickens on down t'other side.
Yeah, let's give 'em a ride."

Wolf Crick Pass, way up on the Great Divide.
Truckin' on down the other side.

Well, Earl put down his bottle,
Mashed his foot down on the throttle.
Then a couple'a boobs{5} an' a thousan' cubes{6},
In a nineteen-forty-eight Peterbilt{7} screamed to life.
We woke up the chickens.

We roared up off o' that shoulder,
Sprayin' pine cones, rocks, an' boulders,
An' put four hundred head o' them Rhode Island Reds{8},
An' a couple o' burnt-out roosters on the line.
Look out below. 'Cause here we go!

Wolf Crick Pass, way up on the Great Divide.
Truckin' on down the other side.

Well, we commenced ta truckin',
An' them hens commenced ta cluckin'.
An' then Earl took out a match an' scratched his pants,
An' lit up the unused half of a dollar cigar an' took a puff.
Says "My, ain't this pretty up here."

I says, "Earl, this hill can spill us.
You better slow down or you gon' kill us.
Just make one mistake an' it's the Pearly Gates,
For them eighty-five crates o' USDA{9}-approved cluckers.
You wanna hit second?"

Wolf Crick Pass, way up on the Great Divide.
Truckin' on down the other side.

Well, Earl grabbed on the shifter,
An' he stabbed her into fifth gear,
An' then the chromium-plated, fully-illuminated,
Genuine accessory shift knob come right off in his hand.
I says, "You wanna screw that thing back on, Earl?"

He was tryin' to thread it on there,
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When the fire fell off o' his cigar,
An' dropped on down, sorta rolled around,
An' lit in the cuff of Earl's pants an' burned a hole in his sock.
Yeah, sorta set him right on fire.

I looked on out ta winda.
An' I started a-countin' phone poles,
Goin' by at the rate of four to the seventh power.
Well, I put 2 an' 2 together, an' added twelve an' carried five.
Come up with twenty-two thousand telephone poles an hour.

I looked at Earl an' his eyes was wide,
His lip was curled, an' his leg was fried.
An' his hands was froze to the wheel,
Like a tongue to a sled in the middle of a blizzard.

I says, "Earl, I'm not the type to complain,
But the time has come for me to explain,
That if you don't apply some brake real soon,
They gonna have to pick us up with a stick an' a spoon."

Well, Earl rared back, cocked his leg,
Stepped down as hard as he could on the brake,
An' the pedal went clear to the floor,
An' it stayed right there on the floor.{10}
He says, "It's sorta like steppin' on a plum."

Well, from there on down it's just not real pretty,
It was hairpin county an' switchback city.{11}
One of 'em looked like a can full o' worms.
Another one looked like malaria germs.

An' right in the middle of the whole damn show,
Was a real nice tunnel, now wouldn't you know?
Sign says, "Clearance to the twelve-foot line,"
But the chickens was stacked to thirteen-nine.

Well we shot that tunnel at a hundred-n'-ten,
Like gas through a funnel an' eggs through a hen,
We took that top row of chickens off,
Slicker than scum off a Lousiana swamp.

Went down an' around an' around an'