Paul F. McCann

ROADBLOCKS ON THE HIGHWAY

It was Sunday night and July was cold,
The year was 88,
when the truckies put up the barricades
round the highways interstate.

Five hundred trucks stopped at Donnybrook
and the men were ready to fight.
They all took a stand there at Donnybrook
on that cold dark winter night.

It was no place for a man to be
with his wife and kids to feed,
the curse must leave,
brave men stand together in times of need.

Tempers were pumping like gasoline,
July was jumping with rage:
What a wicked world when a working man
can’t earn a decent wage.

There’re always trucks on the highways,
pushing men to pumping pills,
It’s a hard graft for sure these days,
just to run a rig and pay the bills.

The roads keep rolling for miles and miles,
people you better make way,
this one’s for all the truckies,
who put the roadblocks on the highway.

It was Sunday night and July was cold,
the year was 88,
when the truckies put up the barricades
round the highways interstate.