Cisco Clifton had a filling station
About a mile and a half from town
Most cars passed
Unless they were out of gas
So Cisco was always around
Regular gas was all that it sold
Except tobacco matches and oil
Other than that he fixed lots of flats
Keeping Cisco's rough hands soiled
He'd wipe the gas and check the air
In a hundred times a day
He patiently gave directions
On how to get to the state highway
Usually he'd give them water
Or a tyre or two some air
And once a big black Cadillac
Spent seven dollars there
He'd give anybody anything they'd ask
And lend anything he had
His tools or tires, bumper jacks or wire
To the good ones or the bad
In wintertime there was a depot stove
And a table for a checker game
And every morning at sunup
The same checker players came
So Cisco Clifton's filling station
Was always in the red
Personal loans were personally gone
But never a word was said
One morning at eight them checker players
Heard a big bulldozer roar like a freight
And Cisco said, "I hope my kids stay fed
When they build that interstate"
He'd managed to pay for the property
Where his little filling station sat
And friends still came for the checker game
So Cisco settled for that
He wouldn't say so but Cisco knew
That the interstate was too much to fight
But to keep his will
And to pay his bills
He did odd jobs at night
He still opened up at sunrise
And the checker game went on
The cars flew past
On high test gas
And the neighbors had sold out and gone
If a car ever did go by
He was lost
And if they stopped
They were treated the same
So at Cisco Clifton's filling station
There's a howdy
And a checker game