Final Delivery

One Friday in the stockyard John's left arm was aching him so

He was pale as primer when he told his boss that he'd go

Make a final delivery and earn his last hours pay

Though he never much cared for all the money that he made

So his Mac truck was piled heavy

With a twenty-two ton load

And at sixty miles an hour

He drank coffee as he drove

And his vision grew blurry for the buzzing in his ears

Until towards the left lane his steering wheel slowly veered

Into three-thirty traffic where a long line of cars ran beside