Audubon

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 and 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