Four Wheel Cowboy

(bill fries, chip davis)

Me an' earl was haulin' chickens on a flatbed out of wiggins, and we'd spent all night on the uphill side of thirty-seven miles of hell called wolf creek pass. which is up on the great divide?


We was settin' there suckin' toothpicks, drinkin' nehi and onion soup mix, and i said, "earl, let's mail a card to mother then send them chickens on down the other side. yeah, let's give 'e
Ide."

[chorus]
Wolf creek pass, way up on the great divide
Truckin' on down the other side

Well, earl put down his bottle, mashed his foot down on the throttle, and then a couple'a boobs with a thousand cubes in a nineteen-forty-eight peterbilt screamed to life. we woke up the chicken
R>

Well, we roared up offa that shoulder sprayin' pine cones, rocks, and boulders, and put four hundred head of them rhode island reds and a couple a' burnt-out roosters on the line. look out below
Use here we go!

Well, we commenced to truckin' and them hens commenced to cluckin' and then earl took out a match and scratched his pants and lit up the unused half of a dollar cigar and took a puff. says "
Ain't this purdy up here."

I says, "earl, this hill can spill us. you better slow down or you gonna kill us. just make one mistake and it's the pearly gates for them eight-five crates a' usda-approved cluckers. you w
Hit second?"

[chorus]
Wolf creek pass, way up on the great divide
Truckin' on down the other side

Well, earl grabbed on the shifter and he stabbed her into fifth gear and then the chromium-plated, fully-illuminated genuine accessory shift knob come right off in his hand. i says, "you wa
Crew that thing back on, earl?"

He was tryin' to thread it on there when the fire fell off a' his cigar and dropped on down, sorta rolled around, and then lit in the cuff of earl's pants and burned a hole in his sock. yeah, so
Et him right on fire.

I looked on outta the window and i started countin' phone poles, goin' by at the rate of four to the seventh power. well i put two and two together, and added twelve and carried five; come up wi
Enty-two thousand telephone poles an hour.

I looked at earl and his eyes was wide, his lip was curled, and his leg was fried. and his hand was froze to the wheel like a tongue to a sled in the middle of a blizzard. i says, "earl, i'
The type to complain; but the time has come for me to explain that if you don't apply some brake real soon, they're gonna have to pick us up with a stick and a spoon."

Well, earl rared back, and cocked his leg, stepped as down as hard as he could on the brake, and the pedal went clear to the floor and stayed there, right there on the floor. he said it was sort
E steppin' on a plum.

Well, from there on down it just wasn't real purdy: it was hairpin county and switchback city. one of 'em looked like a can full'a worms; another one looked like malaria germs. right in the midd
The whole damn show was a real nice tunnel, now wouldn't you know?

Sign says clearance to the twelve-foot line, but the chickens was stacked to thirteen-nine. well we shot that tunnel at a hundred-and-ten, like gas through a funnel and eggs through a hen, and w
K that top row of chickens off slicker than scum off a lousiana swamp. went down and around and around and down 'til we run outta ground at the edge of town. bashed into the side of the feed sto
In downtown pagosa springs.

[chorus]
Wolf creek pass, way up on the great divide
Truckin' on down the other side
Wolf creek pass, way up on the great divide
Truckin' on down the other side

(c.w. mccall, bill fries, chip davis)

Well, packin' on back to jackson
Eighteen-thirty-an'-six
Fifteen wagons an' forty-five orn'ry mules
Packin' on back to jackson
Workin' the beaver trail
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

[chorus]
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Fifteen wagons an' forty-five orn'ry mules
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

Yeah, packin' on back to jackson
Nineteen-thirty-an'-six
Four flat tires an' a worn-out chevy coupe
Packin' on back to jackson
Workin' the teton trail
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

[chorus]
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Four flat tires an' a worn-out chevy coupe
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

[oh, yeah. time for the instrumental portion of our program. banjo pickin', of course.]

[chorus]
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Fifteen wagons an' forty-five orn'ry mules
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Four flat tires an' a worn-out chevy coupe

Packin' on back to jackson
Nineteen-seventy-six
Goose down socks an' forty-dollar walkin' shoes
Packin' on back to jackson
A-workin' the backpack trail
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

[chorus]
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Goose down socks an' forty-dollar walkin' shoes
Jackson hole, wyomin'
Ten more moons an' we gonna rendevous

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

(there won't be no rock 'n' roll)
(c.w. mccall, bill fries, chip davis)

Well, it's only gonna be about an hour, friend
'til they dam your favorite river
So you can water-ski just one more reservior
And them supersonic ships are gonna take you
'cross a sea of pavement
To one more faceless brickyard on the shore

Yeah, it's only gonna be about an hour or so
'til they rip off all your mountains, boy
And that one last tired old eagle bites the sand
And all of that high-and-mighty scenery's
Gonna be leveled to the ground, boy
By a bunch a' them mindless strip mines on the land

[chorus]
So listen well, my brothers
When you hear the night wind sigh
And you see the wild goose flying
Through the gray, polluted sky
There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul

Well, it's only gonna take about a minute or so
'til the junkyards fell the prairies, boy
And them smokin' yellow grass fires start to burn
And the warnings on them beer cans
Gonna be buried in them landfills
No deposit, no sad songs, and no returns

Yeah, it's only gonna take about a minute or so
'til the factories blot the sun out
You gonna have to turn your lights on just to see
And them lights are gonna be neon, sayin'
"fly our jets to paradise"
And the whole damn world is gonna be made of styrene

[chorus]
So listen well, my brothers
When you hear the night wind sigh
And you see the wild goose flying
Through the gray, polluted sky
There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul

Yeah, it's only gonna be about a second, boy
'til they take away all'a this country
And they'll tell you not to listen to this here song
And that far-off sound of freedom's
Gonna be an echo from the past
And the final tune is gonna be sad and long

And it's only gonna be about an eye-blink, boy
'til they pull out the wool to blind us
So we just can't read all the messages on the wall
But the only words that matter
Oughta be scribbled all over them billboards
In big old black and bloody letters, ten feet tall

[chorus]

There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul

There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul

There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul

There won't be no country music
There won't be no rock 'n' roll
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul
'cause when they take away our country
They'll take away our soul