Fog Dog Blues

Copyright 1978 by Dan Scanlan


I've got the standin' in the fog with a wet dog on Highway 99 Blues.
I'm countin' up my changes to pay the road's exactin' dues.
And the fog that's on the ground is creepin' through the cracks in my shoes
And the numbness in my nose
Matches that of my toes,
So any ride I get is damn good news.

Fibber's coiled on a tuft of weeds on a ground that's hard with frost
While I pace the pavement with a mind like a salad that's been tossed.
Dogs, I guess, just hang in there, no matter what the cost:
The beast will keep his own safe sleep
Although his master may be lost.

I've divvied up my time 'tween the on-ramps and the road
My body it's the truck, my mind it's the load.
The sleeping bag on the side of the road has been my sweet abode
But now I feel this growing force,
And my thunb has run its course, my how this trip is getting old.


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