Audubon

<br>Well, I was born in a town called Audubon<br>Southwest Iowa, right where it oughta been<br>Twenty-three houses, fourteen saloons, <br>And a feed mill in nineteen-thirty.<br>Had a neon sign, said &quot;Squealer Feeds&quot;<br>And the bus came through when they felt the need<br>And they stopped at a place there in town called The Old Home Cafe <br><br>Now my daddy was a music lovin` man<br>He stood six-foot-seven, had big ol` hands<br>He`d lost two fingers in a chainsaw but he could still play the violin<br>And Mom played piana, just the keys in the middle<br>And Dad played a storm on his three-fingered fiddle<br>`Cause that`s all there was to do back there folks, except ta go downtown and watch haircuts <br><br> So I was raised on Dust Bowl tunes, you see<br>Had a six-tube radio an` no TV<br>It was so dog-goned hot I had to wet the bed in the summer just to keep cool.<br>Yeah, many`s a night I`d lay awake<br>A-waitin` for a distant station break<br>Just a-settin` and a-wettin` an` a-lettin` that radio fry. <br><br>Well, I listened to Nashville and Tulsa and Dallas<br>And Oklahoma City gave my ear a callus<br>And I`ll never forget them announcers at three A.M.<br>They`d come on an` say &quot;Friends, there`s many a soul who needs us<br>&quot;So send them letters an` cards ta Jesus<br>&quot;That`s J-E-S-U-S friends, in care a` Del Rio, Texas.&quot; <br><br>But the place I remember, on the edge a` town<br>Was the place where you really got the hard-core sound<br>Yeah, a place where the truckers used ta stop on their way to Dees Moins<br>There was signs all over them windowsills<br>Like &quot;If the Devil don`t get ya, then Roosevelt will&quot;<br>And &quot;The bank don`t sell no beer, and we don`t cash no checks.&quot; <br><br>Now them truckers never talked about nothin` but haulin`<br>And the four-letter words was really appallin`<br>They thought them home-town gals was nothin` but toys for their amusement.<br>Rode Chevys and Macks and big ol` stacks<br>They`s always complainin` `bout their livers an` backs<br>But they was fast-livin`, strung-out, truck-drivin` son of a guns <br><br>Now the gal waitin` tables was really classy<br>Had a rebuilt motor on a fairly new chassis<br>And she knew how to handle them truckers; name was Mavis Davis<br>Yeah, she`d pour `em a coffee, then she`d bat her eyes<br>Then she`d listen to `em tell `er some big fat lies<br>Then she`d ask `em how the wife and kids was, back there in Joplin? <br><br>Now Mavis had all of her ducks in a row<br>Weighed ninety-eight pounds; put on quite a show<br>Remind ya of a couple a` Cub Scouts tryin` ta set up a Sears, Roebuck pup tent<br>There`s no proposition that she couldn`t handle<br>Next ta her, nothin` could hold a candle<br>Not a hell of a lot upstairs, but from there on down, Disneyland! <br><br>Now the truckers, on the other hand, was really crass<br>They remind ya of fingernails a-scratchin` on glass<br>A-stompin` on in, leavin` tracks all over the Montgomery Ward linoleum<br>Yeah, they`d pound them counters and kick them stools<br>They`s always pickin` fights with the local fools<br>But one look at Mavis, and they`d turn into a bunch a` tomcats <br><br>Well, I`ll never forget them days gone by<br>I`s just a kid, `bout four foot high<br>But I never forgot that lesson an` pickin` and singin`, the country way<br>Yeah, them walkin`, talkin` truck stop blues<br>Came back ta life in seventy-two<br>As &quot;The Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin` Cafe&quot; <br><br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin`<br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin`<br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin` Cafe<br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin`<br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin`<br>Oh, the Old Home Filler-up An` Keep On A-Truckin` Cafe