In a dusty little town in Idaho
The seasons roll by and by real slow
A place where all the days all seem the same,
But the folks are always friendly and they call you by your name.There’s an old saloon that sits across the tracks
A quiet spot where you can go eat or relax.
It comes alive on Friday night with drinking and dancing,
There’s some lying and fighting, and even romancing.
Local friends and neighbors gather there
To wash down the road dust and to let down their hair.
They all dress up and drive to town
On Friday night when the sun goes down.
Put a quarter in the jukebox....circle 'round.
The buckaroos all line up at the bar
Drinkin ’theirdraft beer from an old canning jar.
Town folks come to sip and sit at tables together
And talk about the kids and cars, and wonder 'bout the weather.
A big old truck showed up one afternoon
And stopped and parked in front of that old saloon
It didn’t take long ‘til word got around to get washed up and come on down,
Some Nashville boys had come into our town.
The people came in from near and far
And filled up every seat in that little bar.
The neon moon was shining bright when Nashville music filled the night
Faces glowed and whiskey flowed. and everything felt right.
They sang, we danced and sang along
The flat tops rang the whole night long.
Sociable glasses raised up high to thank those boys when they said good-bye.
Please come back soon,..... they said they'd try.
Chorus:
It was the night the boys from Nashville came to town
Singing songs and telling stories as folks all gathered ‘round
Hands were clapping, toes were tapping , they played ‘em all so sweet.
Country music filled the barroom and spilled into the street.
We will always remember dressin’ up and getting’ down,
The night the boys from Nashville came to town.
JT©5/10
