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
Hed 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 thats 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, manys a night Id 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 Ill never forget them announcers at three a.m.
Theyd come on an say friends, theres many a soul who needs us
So send them letters an cards ta jesus
Thats 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 dont get ya, then roosevelt will
And the bank dont sell no beer, and we dont 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
Theys 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, shed pour em a coffee, then shed bat her eyes
Then shed listen to em tell er some big fat lies
Then shed 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
Theres no proposition that she couldnt 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, theyd pound them counters and kick them stools
Theys always pickin fights with the local fools
But one look at mavis, and theyd turn into a bunch a tomcats

Well, Ill never forget them days gone by
Is 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