Well, you hate those diesels rolling, Those Friday nights out bowling When he's off for a twelve-hour lay over night, You wish you had a dollar For every time he hollered That he's leaving and he's never coming back
But the curtain-laced billow And his hands on your pillow And his trousers are hanging on the chair, You're lying through your pain, babe, But you're gonna tell him he's your man And you ain't got the courage to leave
He tells you that you're on his mind, You're the only one he's ever gonna find that's Kind of special, and understands his complicated soul, But the only place a man can breathe And collect his thoughts is Midnight and flying away on the road
But you've packed and unpacked, So many times you've lost track And the steam heat is dripping off the walls, But when you hear his engines You're looking through the window in the kitchen and you know You're always gonna be there when he calls
Cause he's a truck driving man, stopping when he can, He's a truck driving man, stopping when he can