Audubon lyrics

Artist  : C.w. Mccall 
Song : Audubon



 Send "Audubon" Ringtone to your Cell 

 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