Rolling 'cross the highways
And the byways of the nation;
Every condition
Every trial and situation
Passes by the big rig's window
As it rumbles on its way,
Counting miles on miles on miles
As night turns into day.
Another town goes speeding by;
Another up ahead.
A hundred more go rolling by
And not a word is said.
The lonely droning of the wheels
Against the asphalt line
Accompanies the singing
Of the mighty engine's whine.
Five hundred miles. A thousand miles.
How many more ahead?
Rolling, rolling, rolling on.
A nation to be fed.
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