This old semi sure could use a tune up

Front ends pulling like a bitch

But I’m not living what you might call

The lifestyle of the rich

Faded jeans and old scuffed boots

Like an old cowpoke I’m saddle sore

I pull into an old familiar truck stop

And as I’m heading for its door

I see a flashing neon sign outside

Think a cup of Joe sure would be fine

I also see that the sign reads

All you can eat just

…three sixty-nine

In faded jeans and old scuffed boots

Like an old cowpoke I’m saddle sore

A 24 hour angel takes my order

As soon as I walk in through the door

Just her and me and that old jukebox

her waitress apron over a mini skirt

She looked so good I think I drooled

Down the front of my old denim shirt

She passes me a menu

Like it’s a book at story time

Said “Remember cutie its all you can eat

…for three sixty-nine

Ordered two eggs up, some bacon

I peeked at her and gave a longing sigh

She just smiled and sat down beside me

And laid a hand upon my thigh

She locked the door turned off the sign

Took my hand and led me out back

We made out to some old country song

About dogs, and beer and old train track

“Honey” she said in a whisper

“I surely love the number sixty nine

 So if you want you can have all you want

…for just three sixty nine

Was it the morning sun that woke me

Or the smell of her bacon and coffee so fine

I don’t know but she just smiled and said

Mister you can have all you can eat just

…three sixty- nine