Verse 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 some junk out back But inside there was always a hot cup of coffee And a warm place around the fire for anyone 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 And he gave me my first charge account for some gas And financed my first date Even fixed my old radio just in case I got lucky And wanted to park down by the lake And among the carburetors and the re-built generators I spent the whole night picking on an old flattop guitar John would play the fiddle and I’d always sing a little No there is no place to get filled up the way you could at John’s Verse John taught me a whole lot about country music because he loved it We’d sit up and listen to the Grand Ole Opry every Saturday night Nobody would ever say a word not even during Martha White And I was awfully young back then but still I knew just why That John closed the shop the whole day When we heard that Hank had died There was something else special about ole John Verse He had a way of making us kids feel important Simply by giving us a good clean place to hang out 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 And among the carburetors and the re-built generators I spent the whole night picking on an old flattop guitar John would play the fiddle and I’d always sing a little No there is no place to get filled up the way you could at John’s And among the carburetors and the re-built generators I spent the whole night picking on an old flattop guitar John would play the fiddle and I’d always sing a little No there is no place to get filled up the way you could at John’s