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