A story about a pal of mineThat worked down near the Georgia lineAs DJ in a little country stationEverybody loved him dearHe played what they liked to hearBuilt himself up quite a reputationAt the record hops he'd stay there lateAnd his mom would always waitTo see if he had made it home aliveWarned the guest he'd lost his sleepDriving fast in that old heapAnd that he had to be at work by fiveDJ the DJYou're living much too fastAnd his mom would always waitIf you don't change your waysDon't see how you can lastEvery morning just past fourFrom the driveway he would roarOverslept and he was late againThen at breakneck speed he'd driveSigned the station on at fiveHe had lots of records he must spinHis mom would always waitMom said by the radioUntil his voice told her helloShe knew then that he'd made it there all rightAnd then she'd say a little prayerHe'd be safe while he was thereAnd she'd wait up for him again tonightThen one cold and rainy mornAll four tires were badly wornBut still he said bye byeAnd he scratched off just as fast as timeWell, BJ had a lot of nerveHe completely missed that curveHe signed off down near the Georgia lineAnd mom said by the radioThe voice she heard she didn't knowBJ'd never been this late beforeBut the weather oh so badAnd all she'd wait a while before she'd callAnd then she heard that knock up on the doorBJ the DJ only twenty-fourA wreck at ninety miles an hourHe'll spin the hits no more