B.j. The D.j. Teclado

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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 station 
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Everybody loved him dear'cause he played what they liked to hear he built him-self up quite a reputation 
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At the record hops he stayed out late and his mom would always wait to see if he had made it home a live 
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She warned against his loss of sleep and driving fast in that old heap and that he had to be at 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 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 must spin 
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His mom sat by the radio until his voice told her hello she knew then that he'd made it there all right 
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Then she'd say a little prayer he'd be safe for he was there and she wait up for him again to night 
 
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Then one cold and rainy morn all the tires were badly worn but still he scratched of just as fast this time 
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B.J. had a lot of nerve but he completely missed the curve and he signed off down near the Georgia line 
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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 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.