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My Old Truck

Amber, my daughter, and I wrote this in 1991


I've got an old truck, a GMC, it was built in 1954.
It's got 6 tires, as bald as can be, and you can see the road to by through the floor.
One headlight doesn't work in the dark, the other works only in the day.
But I drive my truck all over the place, I don't care what the people say.

I turn on the key. Pump the gas up and down, n push the starter to the floor.
The motor turns over but it doesn't catch so I jump out n slam the door.
I get my booster cables outa the shed ‘cause I know my truck needs a jump-start.
But it only costs me the gas in the tank n the oil I buy at Wal-Mart.

But my old truck hauls my grain to town,
It doesn't look good but it seldom breaks down.
I know that old truck owes nothing to me,
I really love my GMC.

My old grain truck smells like a dead old mouse, but that don't bother me.
‘Cause once in a while my daughter rides in the cab n she smells as sweet as can be.
She starts to scratch n she sneezes too, because of all the barley dust.
And when the other farmers pass my by I know that my truck gets cussed.

My old grain truck has a mirror on the side n you can open n close one door.
The wipers only work when it doesn't rain n sometimes it runs on only four.
The wood grain box won't hold the grain unless I stuff the cracks with rags.
Some people have said when I drive into town they think my truck's got the plague.

But My Old Truck...

My GMC's got a hole in the dash where the fuel gauge used to be,
The worn out seat has got lots of holes n it's springs poke into me.
The ceilings falling down, the hand brake don't work, n the fenders are full of rust.
N when the other farmers see my truck, they're not filled with lust.

But my old truck....

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