Tracks

Sittin in a boxcar lookin at my shoes that tell a wicked story  about payin dues, makin a livin with a pool stick and a gun knowin when to shoot and knowin when to run, my daddy was a trucker momma left when I was eight while daddy ran the roads haulin the freight, I was born in a truck stop learned about that white line heard daddy had a family but none of them are mine, now im rollin through your town high upon the track with wind in my hair and sun on my back