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Well, i was born in a town called audubon
southwest iowa, right where it oughta been
twenty-three houses, fourteen saloons,
and a feed mill in nineteen-thirty.
had a neon sign, said &quot;squealer feeds&quot;
and the bus came through when they felt the need
and they stopped at a place there in town called the old home cafe
Now my daddy was a music lovin&#39; man
he stood six-foot-seven, had big ol&#39; hands
he&#39;d lost two fingers in a chainsaw but he could still play the violin
and mom played piana, just the keys in the middle
and dad played a storm on his three-fingered fiddle
&#39;cause that&#39;s all there was to do back there folks, except ta go downtown and watch haircuts
So i was raised on dust bowl tunes, you see
had a six-tube radio an&#39; no tv
it was so dog-goned hot i had to wet the bed in the summer just to keep cool.
yeah, many&#39;s a night i&#39;d lay awake
a-waitin&#39; for a distant station break
just a-settin&#39; and a-wettin&#39; an&#39; a-lettin&#39; that radio fry.
Well, i listened to nashville and tulsa and dallas
and oklahoma city gave my ear a callus
and i&#39;ll never forget them announcers at three
they&#39;d come on an&#39; say &quot;friends, there&#39;s many a soul who needs us
&quot;so send them letters an&#39; cards ta jesus
&quot;that&#39;s j-e-s-u-s friends, in care a&#39; del rio, ;
But the place i remember, on the edge a&#39; town
was the place where you really got the hard-core sound
yeah, a place where the truckers used ta stop on their way to dees moins
there was signs all over them windowsills
like &quot;if the devil don&#39;t get ya, then roosevelt will&quot;
and &quot;the bank don&#39;t sell no beer, and we don&#39;t cash no ;
Now them truckers never talked about nothin&#39; but haulin&#39;
and the four-letter words was really appallin&#39;
they thought them home-town gals was nothin&#39; but toys for their amusement.
rode chevys and macks and big ol&#39; stacks
they&#39;s always complainin&#39; &#39;bout their livers an&#39; backs
but they was fast-livin&#39;, strung-out, truck-drivin&#39; son of a guns
Now the gal waitin&#39; tables was really classy
had a rebuilt motor on a fairly new chassis
and she knew how to handle them truckers; name was mavis davis
yeah, she&#39;d pour &#39;em a coffee, then she&#39;d bat her eyes
then she&#39;d listen to &#39;em tell &#39;er some big fat lies
then she&#39;d ask &#39;em how the wife and kids was, back there in joplin?
Now mavis had all of her ducks in a row
weighed ninety-eight pounds; put on quite a show
remind ya of a couple a&#39; cub scouts tryin&#39; ta set up a sears, roebuck pup tent
there&#39;s no proposition that she couldn&#39;t handle
next ta her, nothin&#39; could hold a candle
not a hell of a lot upstairs, but from there on down, disneyland
Now the truckers, on the other hand, was really crass
they remind ya of fingernails a-scratchin&#39; on glass
a-stompin&#39; on in, leavin&#39; tracks all over the montgomery ward linoleum
yeah, they&#39;d pound them counters and kick them stools
they&#39;s always pickin&#39; fights with the local fools
but one look at mavis, and they&#39;d turn into a bunch a&#39; tomcats
Well, i&#39;ll never forget them days gone by
i&#39;s just a kid, &#39;bout four foot high
but i never forgot that lesson of pickin&#39; and singin&#39;, the country way
yeah, them walkin&#39;, talkin&#39; truck stop blues
came back ta life in seventy-two
as &quot;the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39; cafe&quot;
Oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39;
oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39;
oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39; cafe
oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39;
oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39;
oh, the old home filler-up an&#39; keep on a-truckin&#39; cafe

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