| For thirty some odd years he faced a grinder in the city
|
| Hustlin' day in day out just tryin' to survive
|
| He bought his wife the finer things
|
| And sent his kids to collage
|
| That always took what little bit he tried to put aside
|
| But thru it all he had one thing
|
| That seemed to keep him going
|
| A dream that someday he could leave this city life behind
|
| I watched his hair turn thin and gray
|
| But his dream never faded
|
| He told me all about it at least a thousand times
|
| He always wanted, a place out in the country
|
| Where the birds sing, in the morning
|
| And the grass is emerald green
|
| A place where, he could feel the mornin' sunshine
|
| And sit out in the evenin'
|
| Where the air is, fresh and clean
|
| It took lots of overtime to keep his wife up with the jonses
|
| And more to get his son out of his run-ins with the law
|
| The more it took the more he gave, never once complaining
|
| I don’t know how he ever stood the pressure of it all
|
| I never thought he’d make it, but he finally left the city
|
| And now he’s got that special little place to call his own
|
| Today I took a ride out in the country just to see him
|
| It wasn’t hard to find because his name was on the stone
|
| He always wanted, a place out in the country
|
| Where the birds sing, in the morning
|
| And the grass is emerald green
|
| A place where, he could feel the mornin' sunshine
|
| And sit out in the evenin'
|
| Where the air is, fresh and clean
|
| He always wanted, a place out in the country
|
| Where the birds sing, in the morning
|
| And the grass is… |