This story's about an ex-truck driver bein' named John James Wall before
his friends blackballed him and nick-named him Pinball.
I gathered this story from a truck stop in Gallipolis, Ohio
when this old feller, I'd say, 70 years old, asked me to buy him
a strong cup of coffee and a piece of good apple pie.
I bought the coffee and the pie for the old feller and I'm awful glad
I did because he winked his eye and smiled and said "My!, My!"
Then I noticed in a few minutes, with trembling hands he pushed a part
of his pie and coffee back and looked at me with tears running down
his poor old weather-beaten cheek and this is what he said
I'm an old hog-hauler, I drove a big truck,
I shot the pinball machine but it caused me bad luck.
But all I ever made in a pinball machine,
I'd get four catty-corners, then I'd miss the 16.
I wish they'd outlaw them old pinball machines,
many weeks they have caused me to live on sardines.
Last time I called my wife on the phone,
the first thing she says, "John, when are you coming home?"
"I've got a load of hogs and they've got to go
I'll see you when I get back from Old Chicago."
She says, "John, you know I love you, I wish you wouldn't go,
send your babies some money, they are hungry and cold".
The last thing she said and then she hung up:
"John, you give up my lovin', just to drive an old truck".
I made my trip on to Old Chicago,
I was gone two months 'cause I shot up my dough.
When I got home my family they were gone,
the best friend I had rung my telephone.
He says, "John, I guess you wonder about your babies and wife?
Pneumonia got your babies and your wife took her life".
I lost all my friends, I can't sleep for bad dreams,
I dream about an old truck and a pinball machine.
I never will forget the last words that old man said
"Oh! Lord, if I could live my life over!" and then he fell dead
They tell me John was a clean cut young man at the age of 19
but now he's in his grave,
a victim of a big old truck, and a pinball machine