By Bill Hudgins
By popular demand, here are some of your favorites cracked carols from years past, plus another new one. I also had another piece I wanted to write, as I kept thinking about our losing the “Trucking Bozo.” Dale was gracious to me as a greenhorn truck journalist years ago, and I deeply admired his compassion, his intelligence, his courage and his integrity.
Like the Little Drummer Boy, I wondered what I could bring to honor him, and the following began to form in my mind.
(Fittingly, it’s to the tune of “Silent Night.”)
Late at night, my dial was alight
Bozo was on, until first light:
Down the road with him we’d roll
Calling in, our stories were told,
“How long ‘til Christmas?” we’d say
Bozo’d laugh, then blow us away!
Now it’s day, Bozo’s gone to stay
Left us here, we can only pray:
The truckers’ friend has gone 10-7,
We bet he’s on-the-air up in heaven
Keep an eye on us all, Dale,
Keep an eye on us all.
Your Signature Here
(To the tune of “The Little Drummer Boy”)
Come they told me (your signature here)
A leased big rig for me (your signature here)
I’ll buy it as I go (your signature here)
Be done before I know (your signature here, signature here, signature here)
What’s the fine print say (your signature here) … It isn’t clear.
Owner trucker (your signature here)
That is your gig for now (your signature here)
Just give it all you got (your signature here)
Because we take a lot! (your signature here, signature here, signature here)
Shall I drive for you? (your signature here) … I felt fear.
So, I said whoa there (your signature here),
To OOIDA I’ll go (your signature here)
It’s a bad deal, they said (no signature here)
Walk away while you still can (no signature here, signature here, signature here)
OOIDA protected me (no signature here), kept me free.
Oh Little Town of Speed Trap Fame
(To the tune of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”)
Oh little town of speed trap fame
How low thy police lie,
Behind the sign on Highway 9
Their radar turned up high,
And in the dark night cruising
Unwary truckers learn
Drop 55 to 25
Or you will go home burned.
The Trucking Christmas Song
(To the tune of “The Chipmunk Song”)
Dispatch, dispatch, wish you were here,
On this black ice in second gear.
You might even start to think,
No load is worth this skating rink.
My hands are cramped, my back is sore,
I’m too old for this anymore.
I wish I could be home instead,
Anywhere – but this flatbed.
We Three Rigs
(To the tune of “We Three Kings”)
We three rigs a convoy are,
Running at night to avoid the cars.
Westward heading, vans, flatbedding,
Underneath the winter stars.
Ohhhhh! There’s a blue light, and more being seen,
They must have been monitoring Channel 19.
Heard us gabbing, will now be nabbing,
Our convoy here near Abilene.