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Semi Suite |
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[One, two, three, four] |
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Well, you hate those diesels rollin' |
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Those Friday nights out bowlin' |
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When he's off for a twelve-hour lay over night |
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You wish you had a dollar |
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For every time he hollered |
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That he's leavin' and he's never comin' back |
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But the curtain-laced billow |
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And his hands on your pillow |
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And his trousers are hangin' on the chair |
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You're lyin' through your pain, babe |
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But you're gonna tell him he's your man |
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And you ain't got the courage to leave |
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He tells you that you're on his mind |
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You're the only one he's ever gonna find that's |
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Kinda special, and understands his complicated soul |
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But the only place a man can breathe |
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And collect his thoughts is |
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Midnight and flyin' away on the road |
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But you've packed and unpacked |
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So many times you've lost track |
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And the steam heat is drippin' off the walls |
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But when you hear his engines |
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You're lookin' through the window in the kitchen and you know |
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You're always gonna be there when he calls |
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Cause he's a truck drivin' man, stoppin' when he can |
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He's a truck drivin' man, stoppin' when he can |
