"A Truckie's Last Will Testament" lyrics
I, John Austral, truckie
Being of unsound mind and bump-bruised body
Do hereby make my last will and testament
And bequeath my truck to the finance company
Who will end up with it anyway
To my wife, I leave all the loving she can stand
And a big apology for not being home more often
I also apologize for being so tired when I was home
And for wanting to go to bed so early when she wanted to go out
You know, old girl, there was a pretty good reason for this
I really didn't get as much sleep on the road as you imagine
Not really, a lot of the time I was just too damn tired
To my children, I leave all the wisdom most of us truckies never had
And I hope that none of you grow up to be
Dirty, grease-covered, gear-grindin' truck drivers like me
To all good, clean, honest truck stops, I leave the windscreen of my old truck
Which most of them didn't clean anyway
But I leave it just the same, as a shining example of their handiwork and faithfulness
In helping me to get to where I was going safely
To all the lousy, filthy, dirty truck stops, I leave a pair of dirty socks
And two pairs of dirt-covered unmentionables
That have been rolled up and stuck behind the seat in-between the oil cans
I leave them so they can hang them up in their filthy restrooms
And keep them as dirty as possible, so as to scare away any truckie
Who might dare enter that fever-infested restroom
To all highway patrolmen, state policemen, port of entry inspectors
Fruit-fly inspectors, tick-gate patrolmen
Local constables and government regulators
I leave 316 pounds of reading matter that includes
Law books, motor vehicle guides, regulations, and other enforced bulldust
So they can become as fed up as I was
To honest, fair lawmen, I leave a waving hand
In memory of their tolerance and understanding
Especially in the Northern Territory
Where hills are recognized as enemies of truckies
And the speed laws are almost as good as the roads
And may I say the same about Queensland
To all other lawmen, I leave a waving hand
But I add a slightly different finger and wrist action
To the mayor of rumbling noise I leave a prepaid toll ticket
For a truck and trailer, since I know that even he
Would have a hard time
Paying the high tolls on that road
To the dear old town of Booze Up, I leave my gravel driveway
So the townspeople, including the local copper, can walk on it barefoot
To remind themselves of their own roads
Which are not almost Heaven
To my wife also, I leave a map of Australia
So that she can discover it really does take a day or two
To cross two inches of the Northern Territory
Because this is a bloody big country
To New South Wales, I leave a recipe for coffee (Ohhh)
Now, to the truck stops who overprice me on fuel
I leave the hope that someday some stupid truck horn blast
Comes along in a truck horn blast big Mack with a Fruehauf trailer
And flattens his bloody pumps
And now to the mayor of drill noise, I leave one stone
To be placed on his desk, and under each paper he has to sign
Which will make it as hard to write
As it was to drive on his roads
To all the good garages and dedicated shop foremen, I leave a word of thanks
For helping me to stay on the road
Even if it was only to pay their bill
And to all the crooks at the bad garages, I leave you the best of all
I leave you the tourists
To all the truck stops with little or no parking, I leave the State of Victoria
To be distributed in ten-acre lots
To all the crummy pubs, I leave a freeway bypass
And to all the pubs who threw me out because of my language
Offensive behavior, or indecent dress
I leave the solemn hope that their beer turns to soapsuds
And all their drinkers riot and wreck the bloody place
To all the mugs who pinched the gear of my truck when I was vehicle sound
And sleeping in cab, or the gutter nearby
I leave the hope that their wife runs off with the local dirt collector
And last but not least, I leave to the government of Australia
The firm hope that some leader, some lawmaker, somewhere
Will have the courage, honesty, and foresight, to get his truck horn blast into gear
And pass some legislation providing for uniform loading of trucks
And seek other ways to ensure further rights for truckies everywhere
And so, being of unsound mind and worn-out body, I leave my last seven dollars
To Truck and Bus magazine, so my wife can read it and remember
What a bloody good truckie she was married to
And maybe miss me for another year
Signed, John Austral
Witnessed by Slim Dusty
Being of unsound mind and bump-bruised body
Do hereby make my last will and testament
And bequeath my truck to the finance company
Who will end up with it anyway
To my wife, I leave all the loving she can stand
And a big apology for not being home more often
I also apologize for being so tired when I was home
And for wanting to go to bed so early when she wanted to go out
You know, old girl, there was a pretty good reason for this
I really didn't get as much sleep on the road as you imagine
Not really, a lot of the time I was just too damn tired
To my children, I leave all the wisdom most of us truckies never had
And I hope that none of you grow up to be
Dirty, grease-covered, gear-grindin' truck drivers like me
To all good, clean, honest truck stops, I leave the windscreen of my old truck
Which most of them didn't clean anyway
But I leave it just the same, as a shining example of their handiwork and faithfulness
In helping me to get to where I was going safely
To all the lousy, filthy, dirty truck stops, I leave a pair of dirty socks
And two pairs of dirt-covered unmentionables
That have been rolled up and stuck behind the seat in-between the oil cans
I leave them so they can hang them up in their filthy restrooms
And keep them as dirty as possible, so as to scare away any truckie
Who might dare enter that fever-infested restroom
To all highway patrolmen, state policemen, port of entry inspectors
Fruit-fly inspectors, tick-gate patrolmen
Local constables and government regulators
I leave 316 pounds of reading matter that includes
Law books, motor vehicle guides, regulations, and other enforced bulldust
So they can become as fed up as I was
To honest, fair lawmen, I leave a waving hand
In memory of their tolerance and understanding
Especially in the Northern Territory
Where hills are recognized as enemies of truckies
And the speed laws are almost as good as the roads
And may I say the same about Queensland
To all other lawmen, I leave a waving hand
But I add a slightly different finger and wrist action
To the mayor of rumbling noise I leave a prepaid toll ticket
For a truck and trailer, since I know that even he
Would have a hard time
Paying the high tolls on that road
To the dear old town of Booze Up, I leave my gravel driveway
So the townspeople, including the local copper, can walk on it barefoot
To remind themselves of their own roads
Which are not almost Heaven
To my wife also, I leave a map of Australia
So that she can discover it really does take a day or two
To cross two inches of the Northern Territory
Because this is a bloody big country
To New South Wales, I leave a recipe for coffee (Ohhh)
Now, to the truck stops who overprice me on fuel
I leave the hope that someday some stupid truck horn blast
Comes along in a truck horn blast big Mack with a Fruehauf trailer
And flattens his bloody pumps
And now to the mayor of drill noise, I leave one stone
To be placed on his desk, and under each paper he has to sign
Which will make it as hard to write
As it was to drive on his roads
To all the good garages and dedicated shop foremen, I leave a word of thanks
For helping me to stay on the road
Even if it was only to pay their bill
And to all the crooks at the bad garages, I leave you the best of all
I leave you the tourists
To all the truck stops with little or no parking, I leave the State of Victoria
To be distributed in ten-acre lots
To all the crummy pubs, I leave a freeway bypass
And to all the pubs who threw me out because of my language
Offensive behavior, or indecent dress
I leave the solemn hope that their beer turns to soapsuds
And all their drinkers riot and wreck the bloody place
To all the mugs who pinched the gear of my truck when I was vehicle sound
And sleeping in cab, or the gutter nearby
I leave the hope that their wife runs off with the local dirt collector
And last but not least, I leave to the government of Australia
The firm hope that some leader, some lawmaker, somewhere
Will have the courage, honesty, and foresight, to get his truck horn blast into gear
And pass some legislation providing for uniform loading of trucks
And seek other ways to ensure further rights for truckies everywhere
And so, being of unsound mind and worn-out body, I leave my last seven dollars
To Truck and Bus magazine, so my wife can read it and remember
What a bloody good truckie she was married to
And maybe miss me for another year
Signed, John Austral
Witnessed by Slim Dusty
