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C. W. Mccall - Audubon

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C. W. Mccall - Audubon

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WellI was born in a town called audubon
Southwest iowaright where it oughta been
Twenty-three housesfourteen saloons
And a feed mill in nineteen-thirty.
Had a neon signsaid "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-sevenhad big ol' hands
He'd lost two fingers in a chainsaw but he could still play the violin
And mom played pianajust 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 folksexcept ta go downtown and watch haircuts

So I was raised on dust bowl tunesyou 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.
Yeahmany'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.

WellI 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 "friendsthere's many a soul who needs us
"so send them letters an' cards ta jesus
"that's j-e-s-u-s friendsin care a' del riotexas."

But the place I rememberon the edge a' town
Was the place where you really got the hard-core sound
Yeaha 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 yathen roosevelt will"
And "the bank don't sell no beerand 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-outtruck-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
Yeahshe'd pour 'em a coffeethen 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 wasback 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 searsroebuck pup tent
There's no proposition that she couldn't handle
Next ta hernothin' could hold a candle
Not a hell of a lot upstairsbut from there on downdisneyland!

Now the truckerson the other handwas really crass
They remind ya of fingernails a-scratchin' on glass
A-stompin' on inleavin' tracks all over the montgomery ward linoleum
Yeahthey'd pound them counters and kick them stools
They's always pickin' fights with the local fools
But one look at mavisand they'd turn into a bunch a' tomcats

WellI'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
Yeahthem walkin'talkin' truck stop blues
Came back ta life in seventy-two
As "the old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin' cafe"

Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin'
Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin'
Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin' cafe
Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin'
Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin'
Ohthe old home filler-up an' keep on a-truckin' cafe

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