(Words & music: A. Latimer)
Written while riding in the cabs of some big rigs.
Dedicated to the drivers, especially those who
went out of their way to to help me as I
hitchhiked around the world.
We were moving on the highway
The load was feeling fine
I could feel the diesel
Throbbing through my dreams
That old Mac was fairly screaming
We were making damn good time
My head was nearly
Bursting at the seams
Hard day's driving
Cold road winding
Moving on that lonesome road
Coming out of Saskatoon
A lady flagged me down
She was a sad and
Blue eyed blonde of nineteen years
She was looking cold and lonely
In a faded worn out buckskin
She didn't even try to hide the tears
She told me of her lover
Who was a rodeo-ing cowboy
He'd gone away and never said goodbye
Her father crop was failing
There were hard times on the prairie
She ended up just running clear away
Curly Boy Stubs: rhythm guitar;
Stephen Fearing: resophonic guitar
& hammertone; Dennis Pendrith:
acoustic bass; Chris Whiteley:
harmonica
Chris
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