| I look out on the grey of New York City
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| To see some children playing in the snow
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| Central Park in winter should look pretty
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| But New York ain’t a place for kids to grow
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| And my memory takes me back again to winters that I’ve seen
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| Fields and wooded hills where snow could fall and keep it’s clean
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| Where I’d wake unto the wonder of the West Virginia morn
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| City boy
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| Country born
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| And I watch the garbage scows plow up the river
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| Filled with things New Yorkers throw away
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| I watch the skinny dipping children and I shiver
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| Lord, that Hudson River ain’t no place to play
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| And my memory takes me back again to rivers that I’ve seen
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| Lazy country rivers that just flow and feed the green
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| You can fish 'em, you can drink 'em, you can swim 'em when your warm
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| City boy
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| Country born
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| And I see the heart of New York City mothers
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| As they hurry home across the Brooklyn Bridge
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| To feed their children dixie cups of instant coffee
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| And frozen TV dinners front the fridge
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| And my memory takes me back again to dinners that I’ve seen
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| Home cured crispy bacon, buttered corn and country beans
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| And a cup of mama’s coffee, cooking stoves that kept me warm
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| City boy
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| Country born |