RU: 0-9 А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
EN: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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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
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