B.j. The D.j.

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A story bout a pal of mine who worked down near the Georgia line as D.J. in a Little country 
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station
Everybody loved him dear'cause he played what they liked to hear he built him-self up quite a 
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reputation
At the record hops he stayed out late and his mom would always wait to see if he had made it 
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home a live
She warned against his loss of sleep and driving fast in that old heap and that he had to be at 
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work by five.

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   B.J. the D.J. you're living much too fast and if you don't change your ways don't see how 
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you can last

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Every morning just past four from the driveway he would roar over slept and he was let again
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Then at break-neck speed he'd drive to sign the station on at five he had lots of records he 
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must spin
His mom sat by the radio until his voice told her hello she knew then that he'd made it there 
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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 
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night

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Then one cold and rainy morn all the tires were badly worn but still he scratched of just as 
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fast this time
B.J. had a lot of nerve but he completely missed the curve and he signed off down near the 
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Georgia line
Mom sat by the radio the voice she heard she did noy know  B.J'd, never beed this late before.
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But with the road so bad and all she'd ait awhile before she called and then she heard the knock
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 up on the door
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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.
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