| It’s a middle of nowhere, nobody comes here town
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| You’re either born and raised and you stay or you turn right around
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| , court house, stop light blinking
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| Four wheels, corn fields, I know what you’re thinking
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| Who’d wanna live in this place
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| Who’d wanna suffer the fate
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| Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt
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| Who’d wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit
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| We do, and a few of us know what it’s worth
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| A little buckshot dot on a map it might be
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| But it’s the world to me
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| I know these hollers and hills and fields down to every square inch
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| I know every name sprayed in Dupont paint on that bridge
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| Had my first kiss, learned to shift gears on these back roads
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| All that and all of this makes me one of those
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| Who’d wanna live in this place
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| Who’d wanna suffer the fate
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| Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt
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| Who’d wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit
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| We do, and a few of us know what it’s worth
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| A little buckshot dot on a map it might be
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| Oh, but it’s the world to me
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| It’s those Friday night games
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| Barry’s Tavern on Main
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| Where we got a cold beer after a hard day’s work
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| It’s who we are through and through
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| From our hats to our boots
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| It’s the truth, and we all know what it’s worth
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| A little buckshot dot on a map it might be
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| But it’s the world to me
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| Oh, the world to me |