| She was only a waitress in a highway café
|
| Poured coffee from dusk until dawn
|
| But she’s heart-broken 24 hours a day
|
| For she longed for her trucker who’d gone
|
| «Will you make it a corned beef on rye»
|
| He’d sing with a gleam in her eye
|
| Oh, the headlights were burning
|
| And the big wheels were turning
|
| Her sweetheart would come by and by
|
| He’d park his great semi off Route 64
|
| She’d blush with a sweet little sigh
|
| For at half past eleven, he’d walk in the door
|
| And order a corned beef on rye
|
| «Will you make it a corned beef on rye»
|
| He’d sing with a gleam in her eye
|
| The jukebox was blarin'
|
| His soft eyes were starin'
|
| And the corned beef would come by and by
|
| All the drivers remember that night, so they say
|
| She’d said her farewells to them all
|
| But when the hands on the clock reached a quarter past twelve
|
| Her suitcase still stood in the hall
|
| And the hours passed by even as the trucks passed by out on the highway
|
| And then two grim Highway Patrolmen came into the place
|
| They shook the rain from their hats
|
| And as the poor girl brought them their coffee |
| These were the words that they said
|
| «Hey, Curly, did you see that old diesel flattened out
|
| Like your damned nose up by the predicament tonight?
|
| «Well, he jack-knifed that son of a bitch slicker than owl shit!
|
| «I'll have a chilli dog over here, baby
|
| «Hell, you don’t suppose that he had a little ol' hog way down the line
|
| somewhere, do you?
|
| «Hey now, Curly, don’t you know that them damn truckers
|
| They got to take up a little filly at every café from here to Las Cruces!»
|
| Now there is a small truck-stop on Route 64
|
| If you happen to be passin' by
|
| There’s a trucker that never stops in anymore
|
| There’s a waitress who wished she knew why
|
| «Oh, make it a corned beef on rye»
|
| She sings with a tear in her eye
|
| And as her dark eyes are glistening
|
| There’s someone who’s listening
|
| In that highway café in the sky
|
| «Oh, we’ll make you the corned beef on rye»
|
| She sings with a tear in her eye
|
| And as her dark eyes are glistening
|
| There’s someone who’s listening
|
| In that highway café in the sky |