The Story Behind the Song
When I was a teenager, one of my favorite places to hang out with Dad was Waffle House.
There was nothing fancy about it. Dad would settle in with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, and I’d make my way to the jukebox with a handful of quarters. My song was “Brick House” by the Commodores. I loved that song. I loved playing it over and over again!
Dad never seemed to mind. He was the kind of father who let me enjoy my music, even when my taste in music wasn’t necessarily his. Those visits weren’t about doing anything special. We were just hanging out together, listening to music, and enjoying each other’s company.
Those Waffle House visits weren’t anything extraordinary at the time, but they’ve become some of my favorite memories of Dad. I can still picture him sitting there with his coffee while I fed another quarter into the jukebox, determined to hear “Brick House” just one more time. It’s those simple, carefree moments that inspired One More Quarter.
It’s a playful little tribute to those ordinary afternoons and evenings at Waffle House, when a handful of quarters could keep my favorite song playing and Dad was perfectly content to let me have my fun.
Even now, whenever I hear “Brick House,” I’m transported back to that jukebox, the clatter of dishes, the smell of coffee, and Dad sitting nearby. I can almost see myself digging through my pockets, hoping to find enough change to play it one more time.
I’d give anything to have one more quarter—and one more afternoon at Waffle House with Dad.
Lyrics
Verse 1
Neon buzzing through the window,
Coffee pouring—half past ten.
Dad was working on another cup,
I was eyeing that jukebox again.
Couple quarters in my blue-jean pocket,
I already knew what I came to play,
Dropped one in and punched those numbers—
“Brick House” coming our way.
Pre-Chorus
Dad just grinned and shook his head,
Like, Girl, not that song again.
But he never tried to stop me—
So I dropped another in.
Chorus
One more quarter, one more song,
Turn it up and sing along,
Coffee cups and jukebox lights,
We had nowhere else to be that night.
I thought those nights would last forever,
Never knew how fast they’d run.
One more quarter, play it louder—
Come on, Dad, this one’s the one.
Verse 2
He’d light a smoke and lean back easy,
Let me be just who I was,
Rock and roll and teenage freedom,
He didn’t need a better cause.
No lectures ’bout the clothes I wore,
No telling me to turn it down,
Just a booth, a cup of coffee,
And that funky Motown sound.
Pre-Chorus
Every time that record ended,
I knew just what I’d do—
Dig around for one more quarter,
Dad would laugh, “Again? That’s two.”
Chorus
One more quarter, one more song,
Turn it up and sing along,
Coffee cups and jukebox lights,
We had nowhere else to be that night.
Chorus (cont.)
I thought those nights would last forever,
Never knew how fast they’d run.
One more quarter, play it louder—
Come on, Dad, this one’s the one.
Bridge
Funny, you don’t know you’re making memories
While you’re busy living life.
They’re just coffee cups and quarters,
Just a song on Friday night.
You don’t think to hold the moment,
You don’t know what it will mean—
Till you’d give almost anything
To step back in that scene.
Breakdown
I’d hear that needle find the record,
Watch those little numbers glow,
Smell the coffee, hear him laughing—
All the things I didn’t know.
I’d slide into that booth beside him,
Like no time had passed at all…
And if Heaven had a jukebox,
I’d know exactly what I’d call.
Final Chorus
Give me one more quarter, one more song,
Turn it up and sing along,
Coffee cups and jukebox lights,
Give me one more ordinary night.
I know now nothing lasts forever,
That’s what makes the small things gold.
So play it once, then play it twice—
Like we did in days of old.
Give me one more quarter, one more song,
One more chance to tag along,
Nothing grand, no big goodbye,
Just Dad and me and a little time.
Yeah, the little things become the big things
When the years have come and gone—
So give me one more quarter…
Outro
Dad, I’m playing our song—again.
One more time.
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