| Maggie’s up each mornin' at 4 A. M
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| By five behind the counter at the diner
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| Her trucker friends out on the road will soon be stoppin' in
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| As the lights go on at Cafe Carolina
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| Maggie’s been a waitress here most all her life
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| Thirty years of coffee cups and sore feet
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| The mountains around Asheville she’s never seen the other side
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| And closer now to fifty than to forty
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| Maggie’s never had love
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| She says she’s never had enough time
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| To let a man into her life
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| Oh but Maggie has a dream
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| She’s had since she was 17
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| To find a husband
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| And be a wife
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| Maggie knows the truckers most by first name
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| What they’ll have to say and what they’ll order
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| And they take her in their stories to places far away
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| And then leave her with the dishes, dreams and quarters
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| Maggie’s never had love
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| She says she’s never had enough time
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| To let a man into her life
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| Oh but Maggie has a dream
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| She’s had since she was 17
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| To find a husband
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| And be a wife
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| And she relies upon the jukebox
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| On the lonely afternoons
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| When the business starts to slow down
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| She plays the saddest tunes
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| She stares off down the highway
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| She wonders where it goes
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| With nobody to go home to
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| And it’s almost time to close
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| And the lights go down at Cafe Carolina |