Bob Nierstedt

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BLACKTOP RIBBON

DOWN THE BLACKTOP I'M A COMIN', THOSE EIGHTEEN WHEELS A' HUMMIN', AND BOTH EYES LOOKIN' OUT FOR JOHNNY LAW.
HEADIN' SOUTH TO CAROLINA, PASSIN' PETES' AND OLD FREIGHTLINERS, TRYIN' TO HEAR MERLE HAGGARD OVER THAT ENGINE'S ROAR.

A HEAVY RAIN IS FALLIN, BUT THAT HIGHWAY KEEPS ON CALLIN', IF I LISTEN CLOSE I I HEAR IT CALL MY NAME.
FOR THE ROAD I'M ALWAYS YEARNIN', AND I'M PROUD OF WHAT I'M EARNIN', I CAN DRIVE LIKE HELL AND THAT'S MY CLAIM TO FAME.

CHORUS: I MAY BE DRIVIN' BUT I'M DRIVEN, CAN'T GET OFF THIS BLACKTOP RIBBON, WHY CAN'T I CHANGE MY WAYS AND SETTLE DOWN.
STAYIN' UP FOR FORTY HOURS, CHEAP MOTELS WITH BROKEN SHOWERS, GREASY BURGERS, SOGGY FRIES IN SOME OLD TOWN.

WE BLEED DIESEL WHEN WE'RE CUT, WE GOT DRIVIN' IN OUR GUT, WE MAY LEAVE IT FOR A WHILE, BUT WE COME BACK.
THERE'S A LADY I LEFT HOME, BUT SHE KNOWS I NEED TO ROAM, AND SHE KNOWS THAT I LOVE HER, AND MY OLD MACK.

REPEAT CHORUS:


COPYRIGHT c APRIL, 2004
BOB NIERSTEDT