A story bout a pal of mine who worked down near the Georgia line as D.J. in a Little country station
Everybody loved him dear'cause he played what they liked to hear he built him-self up quite a reputation
At the record hops he stayed out late and his mom would always wait to see if he had made it home a live
She warned against his loss of sleep and driving fast in that old heap and that he had to be at work by five.
B.J. the D.J. you're living much too fast and if you don't change your ways don't see how you can last
Every morning just past four from the driveway he would roar over slept and he was let again
Then at break-neck speed he'd drive to sign the station on at five he had lots of records he must spin
His mom sat by the radio until his voice told her hello she knew then that he'd made it there all right
Then she'd say a little prayer he'd be safe for he was there and she wait up for him again to night
Then one cold and rainy morn all the tires were badly worn but still he scratched of just as fast this time
B.J. had a lot of nerve but he completely missed the curve and he signed off down near the Georgia line
Mom sat by the radio the voice she heard she did noy know B.J'd, never beed this late before.
But with the road so bad and all she'd ait awhile before she called and then she heard the knock up on the door
B.J. the D.J. on-ly twen-ty-four a wreck at nine-ty miles an hour he'll spin the hits no more.