“In tiny Olivehurst, where quiet streets hum And the breeze smells faintly of fries and sun, There stands a shack — Hometown Burger, plain, A relic that’s weathered years of change.
Ownership’s swapped hands a time or two, Yet that faded sign still welcomes you. Locals line up where the gravel meets gray, For onion rings stacked in a golden display.
The burger? A tower — bold, not neat, Cheese melting over bacon’s heat. Crunchy rings wedged between the buns, Grease that whispers, “You’ve already won.”
It’s average, sure — no fancy flair, But comfort’s found in the fryer’s air. A hometown taste, both humble and kind, A four-star meal for peace of mind.“
“In tiny Olivehurst, where quiet streets hum
And the breeze smells faintly of fries and sun,
There stands a shack — Hometown Burger, plain,
A relic that’s weathered years of change.
Ownership’s swapped hands a time or two,
Yet that faded sign still welcomes you.
Locals line up where the gravel meets gray,
For onion rings stacked in a golden display.
The burger? A tower — bold, not neat,
Cheese melting over bacon’s heat.
Crunchy rings wedged between the buns,
Grease that whispers, “You’ve already won.”
It’s average, sure — no fancy flair,
But comfort’s found in the fryer’s air.
A hometown taste, both humble and kind,
A four-star meal for peace of mind.“