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
"Squealer Feeds" 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' man He stood
six-foot-seven, had big ol' hands He'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 'Cause that'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' no TV It was so dog-goned hot I
had to wet the bed in the summer just to keep
cool. Yeah, many's a night I'd lay awake A-waitin'
for a distant station break Just a-settin' and
a-wettin' an' a-lettin' that radio fry.

Well, I listened to Nashville and Tulsa and Dallas
And Oklahoma City gave my ear a callus And I'll
never forget them announcers at three A.M. They'd
come on an' say "Friends, there's many a soul who
needs us "So send them letters an' cards ta Jesus
"That's J-E-S-U-S friends, in care a' Del Rio,
Texas."

But the place I remember, on the edge a' 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 "If the Devil don't get ya,
then Roosevelt will" And "The bank don't sell no
beer, and we don't cash no checks."

Now them truckers never talked about nothin' but
haulin' And the four-letter words was really
appallin' They thought them home-town gals was
nothin' but toys for their amusement. Rode Chevys
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/GmJand Macks and big ol' stacks They's always
complainin' 'bout their livers an' backs But they
was fast-livin', strung-out, truck-drivin' son of
a guns

Now the gal waitin' 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'd pour 'em a coffee, then she'd bat her
eyes Then she'd listen to 'em tell 'er some big
fat lies Then she'd ask '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' Cub Scouts tryin' ta set up a
Sears, Roebuck pup tent There's no proposition
that she couldn't handle Next ta her, nothin'
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'
on glass A-stompin' on in, leavin' tracks all over
the Montgomery Ward linoleum Yeah, they'd pound
them counters and kick them stools They's always
pickin' fights with the local fools But one look
at Mavis, and they'd turn into a bunch a' tomcats

Well, I'll never forget them days gone by I's just
a kid, 'bout four foot high But I never forgot
that lesson an' pickin' and singin', the country
way Yeah, them walkin', talkin' truck stop blues
Came back ta life in seventy-two As "The Old Home
Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin' Cafe"

Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On A-Truckin'
Cafe Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
A-Truckin' Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
A-Truckin' Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An' Keep On
A-Truckin' Cafe