Used To Be

{ Cabins Made of { And to the {}travellers of the mother road { 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 holes in the roof And there's weeds at the door That motor courts still there, but that don't 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