{G}Roadside Motor Court C
Cabins Made of {G}Sandstone C
And to the {G}travellers of the mother road
{C}She was a port in the {G}storm C
Now if those walls could talk
Oh, the stories the could tell son
And that roadside motor court
It'd keep you safe and warm
Now there's D holes in the roof
And there's C weeds at the door
That motor D courts still there,
but that don't C see no travellers no G more C
Guess who used to grow cotton
on these tired old farms
Yeah they'd load the wagons time and time again
With their weary old arms
They'd make a little money at the gin
Pay a little credit at the store
Yeah the scratched and the worked the land
Till the dirt got poor
Now that cotton gin is some kind of second hand store
Yeah the building's there,
But they don't gin no cotton no more
Yeah they used to go dancing
Down at the Log Cabin Bar
Yeah they'd be laughing, carrying on
Make a little love in the car
And they'd spread that sawdust down
On a concrete floor
They'd dance all night
Until they're feet got sore
Till one Sunday Morning
They had the law burn her down
Now there aint no place for us to go Dancin
In this one horse town
Yeah, we used to dance in this town
Yeah!
Solo