Got here this morning Leaving on Saturday Two nights in Boston And we're out on the road again While part of yourself stays with friends that you've made Rolling the highways Living the way we do Not truck driving men But only half of the gigs, the show Makes London to Glasgow, seem like down the road you know
But we're out on the road That's part of the load The load
Down the road... (repeat)
Pull in for dinner Home's four thousand miles away Write to your lady Not knowing quite just what to say You only know, you never ask her to wait
Houston in Texas Two hundred miles or so Last stop for supper With just one tuna fish to go No time to smile, no time to say, one small hello