Tipo de gaita: Qualquer tipo
Tom: qualquer

B.J. THE D.J.
STONEWALL JACKSON
Written by HUGH LEWIS

VERSE 1:
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 A story 'bout a friend of mine,
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Who worked down near the Georgia line,
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As D.J. in a little country station.
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Eve-ry-bo-dy loved him dear,
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'Cause he played what they liked to hear,
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He built himself up quite a rep-u-tat-ion.
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At record hops he stayed out late,
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And his Mom would always wait,
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To see if he had made it home alive.
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She warned against his loss of sleep,
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And driving fast in that old heap,
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And that he had to be at work by five.

CHORUS 1:
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B.J. the D.J. you're living much too fast,
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  And if you don't change your ways don't see how
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you can last.

VERSE 2:
Every morning just past four,
From the driveway he would roar,
Overslept and he was late 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 day a little prayer,
He'd be safe for he was there,
And she'd wait up for him again tonight.
(CHORUS)

VERSE 3:
The one cold and rainy morn,
All the tires were badly worn,
But still he scratched off 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 not know,
B.J.'d never been this late before.
But with the road so bad and all,
She'd wait a while before she'd call,
And then she heard the knock upon the door.

CHORUS 2:
B.J. the D.J. only twenty-four,
A wreck at ninety- miles an hour he'll spin the
hits no more.