Sound
Bluegrass, male singer with dark southern accent, guitars, piano, harmonica, mandolin, Soulful, Melodic, Playful, Acoustic guitar strums, Passionate, Acoustic harmonies, Punchy beat,
Lyrics
(Harmonica intro, a little dusty and mournful, then kicks into a steady, driving rhythm)
You feel that Scania shakin' you right down to your boots,
Eatin' up that asphalt, spittin' out the blues.
Hundred miles behind you, feels like a thousand more to go,
This rig's your iron horse, the only life you know.
Sun sinkin' low, paintin' the sky all shades of fire,
Gut's startin' to rumble, fuelin' that inner desire.
See that neon buzzin' 'cross the desert plain?
Truckstop taverna, callin' out your name.
Pull that beast of burden to a dusty, gravel stop,
Hear the hiss of hydraulics, feel the engine softly drop.
Stretch your weary legs, crack your knuckles in the air,
Leave the load behind you, and ditch all your cares.
Inside, the stools are worn, the jukebox hummin' low,
Smells like stale beer and yesterday's rodeo.
Order up a burger, greasy, fast, and thick,
Wash it down with coffee, strong enough to kick.
Hear those stories flyin', 'cross the room and back again,
Tales of runaway loads and near-misses, friend.
Share a grin and nod, understandin' in your eyes,
We're all just chasin' horizons 'neath these endless skies.
(Harmonica break, a little faster, a little more upbeat)
That burger's gone, the caffeine's got you wired,
Got that feelin' in your bones, gotta keep on fired.
Back behind the wheel, the Scania's waitin' there,
Ready to rumble onwards, with a low and guttural prayer.
Yeah, the road keeps callin', and you gotta answer true,
Another thousand miles, waitin' there for you.
So, let that diesel roar now, let the asphalt unwind,
Leavin' that truckstop taverna, and those memories behind.
You feel that Scania shakin' you right down to your boots,
Eatin' up that asphalt, spittin' out the blues.
Hundred miles behind you, feels like a thousand more to go,
This rig's your iron horse, the only life you know.
Sun sinkin' low, paintin' the sky all shades of fire,
Gut's startin' to rumble, fuelin' that inner desire.
See that neon buzzin' 'cross the desert plain?
Truckstop taverna, callin' out your name.
Pull that beast of burden to a dusty, gravel stop,
Hear the hiss of hydraulics, feel the engine softly drop.
Stretch your weary legs, crack your knuckles in the air,
Leave the load behind you, and ditch all your cares.
Inside, the stools are worn, the jukebox hummin' low,
Smells like stale beer and yesterday's rodeo.
Order up a burger, greasy, fast, and thick,
Wash it down with coffee, strong enough to kick.
Hear those stories flyin', 'cross the room and back again,
Tales of runaway loads and near-misses, friend.
Share a grin and nod, understandin' in your eyes,
We're all just chasin' horizons 'neath these endless skies.
(Harmonica break, a little faster, a little more upbeat)
That burger's gone, the caffeine's got you wired,
Got that feelin' in your bones, gotta keep on fired.
Back behind the wheel, the Scania's waitin' there,
Ready to rumble onwards, with a low and guttural prayer.
Yeah, the road keeps callin', and you gotta answer true,
Another thousand miles, waitin' there for you.
So, let that diesel roar now, let the asphalt unwind,
Leavin' that truckstop taverna, and those memories behind.