Wide Open Highway
When I was but a tot, he taught me to say “Jake Brake.”
First time I saw New York City it was from the cab of his eighteen-wheeler.
He served his country.
He honored his God.
He was a good man.
“Time to get outta Dodge,” he’d say, then fire that diesel up.
The tanks are full and the tarps are tight, Uncle Stan. Every road leads home and all the weigh stations are closed. Let’er roll.
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