| Well, I grew up wild and free
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| Walking these fields in my barefeet
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| There wasn’t no place I couldn’t go
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| With a .22 rifle and a fishin' pole
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| Well, I live in the city but don’t fit in
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| You know it’s a pity the shape I’m in
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| Well, I got no home and I got no choice
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| Oh, Lord, have mercy on a country boy
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| When I was young I remember well
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| I’d hunt the wild turkey and bobwhite quail
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| The river was clear and deep back then
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| Had fishin' lines tied to the willow limb
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| Well, I live in the city but don’t fit in
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| You know it’s a pity the shape I’m in
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| Well, I got no home and I got no choice
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| Oh, Lord, have mercy on a country boy
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| Well, they damned the river, they damned the stream
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| They cut down the Cyprus and the Sweetgum trees
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| There’s a laundromat and a barbershop
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| And now the whole meadow is a parking lot
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| Well, I live in the city but don’t fit in
|
| You know it’s a pity the shape I’m in
|
| Well, I got no home and I got no choice
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| Oh, Lord, have mercy on a country boy
|
| Well, I live in the city but don’t fit in
|
| You know it’s a pity the shape I’m in
|
| Well, I got no home and I got no choice
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| Oh, Lord, have mercy on a country boy |