Each mornin' on my way to work, I see a sleepy man
A-drivin' in his pickup truck, his coffee in his han'.
It takes him fifteen minutes jus' to open up each eye;
He don' know when to speed or slow—he doe'n't even try.
It's forty-seven mile an hour uphill 'n' goin' down;
It's forty-seven in the country, forty-seven through town.
I only catch him speedin' up when I attempt to pass:
He sees me in his mirr', an' in his sleep steps on the gas.
Then all at once a long straight stretch of passing zone I find;
I gun the thing for all she's worth, an' leave that guy behind.
Awhile later down the road, I glance into my mirror
An' see a pickup truck that's bearin' down an' gettin' nearer:
He roars on by at seventy, an' looks at me so scoffy;
I smile, 'cause I jus' know Old Willy fin'lly drank his coffee!