| She’s lookin' out the window, dreamin' on fading lights
|
| Her man is on the job again — a long one, this time for seven nights
|
| He’s loaded up and ready, kicked his tyres and wheeled off to the west
|
| And she’s already feelin'…lonely
|
| And the pain runs down her cheek and on her dressing gown
|
| She gives all the love she can; |
| she doesn’t plan to slow her truckie down
|
| And she battles with her babies and lately been thinkin' about her life
|
| Is there anything in store — is there more — for a truckie’s wife?
|
| And it’s raining down in Willow Tree; |
| you wouldn’t hear a diesel truck tonight
|
| Full of Murrurundi tucker and a cuppa and he’s startin' to feel alright
|
| While she sleeps off another day of her underpaid full time job
|
| Schoolin' and feedin' and dressin' and lovin' her little mob
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| And the motor’s runnin' hot at his feet and he’s dreamin' about his boys
|
| He’s more like an uncle — comes home with icecreams and toys
|
| But at least he’s got a job and it seems like he’s in control
|
| But he’d rather be at home with his woman
|
| And the pain runs down her cheek and on her dressing gown
|
| She gives all the love she can; |
| she doesn’t plan to slow her truckie down
|
| And she battles with her babies and lately been thinkin' about her life
|
| Is there anything in store — is there more — for a truckie’s wife?
|
| Is there anything in store — is there more — for a truckie’s wife? |