Most of the favorite memories of
My boyhood days in Arkansas
Are scattered around an old wood stove
At a place we call John's
It was just an old tar paper shack
With a pump out front and
But inside there was always a
John pumped gas for a living and
He fixed tires on the side
And I guess old John could fix most anything
If you didn't push it he'd try
Charge account for some gas
And financed my first date
Even fixed my old radio just
And wanted to park down by the lake
And among the carburetors and
I spent the whole night picking
John would play the fiddle and
No there is no place to get filled
Up the way you could at John's
John taught me a whole lot about
Country music because he loved it
We'd sit up and listen to the
Nobody would ever say a word
Not even during Martha White
And I was awfully young back then
But still I knew just why
When we heard that Hank had died
There was something else special
He had a way of making us
Simply by giving us a good
Well I can still hear him saying
Pumping gas is a fever boys
It'll get in your blood and it'll make
Your face break out in a grin
Just to check old lady Hanson's oil
Or to help a stranded friend