Asked when we were little
What we'd like to be
Eighteen wheeler trucker
We knew it instantly

Going cross the country
Seeing all the land
Traveling for miles and miles
With CB in our hand

Each day a destination
With purpose as we go
Revving up the engine
Or maybe coasting slow

No matter what the weather
We always make it through
Miles and miles of road to cross
The long haul, yes it's true

Times they may be lonely
We'll stop along the way
Place to eat friends to greet
Compare our notes that day

When the run is over
It all begins once more
All across this nation
Our eighteen wheelers roar.

~ Francine Pucillo ~

©Copyright March 14, 2002