text: Well, you hate those diesels rolling
  Those Friday nights out bowling
  When hes off for a twelve-hour lay overnight
  You wish you had a dollar
  For every time he hollered
  That hes leaving and hes never coming back
  But the curtain-laced billow
  And his hands on your pillow
  And his trousers are hanging on the chair
  Youre lying through your pain, babe
  But youre gonna tell him hes your man
  And you aint got the courage to leave
  He tells you that youre on his mind
  Youre the only one hes ever gonna find
  Thats 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 youve packed and unpacked
  So many times, youve lost track
  And the steam heat is dripping off the walls
  But when you hear his engines
  Youre looking through the window in the kitchen and you know
  Youre always gonna be there when he calls
  Cause hes a truck-driving man, stop in when he can
  Hes a truck-driving man, stop in when he can