| I never knew what smog was till I moved to L. A
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| They say it’s the City of Angels, but they ain’t no Saints
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| If I spend one more day on this freeway I might snap
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| 'Cause I can’t take a breath and I can’t see the crest of those mountains that
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| lie in my path
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| I’ve got to get back to the farm, where the cars aren’t alarmed
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| And the people are happy to see ya
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| Where the world’s biggest stars hang above my backyard
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| And there’s room to stretch out and relax
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| My truck is gassed up and I’m packed
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| I’m goin' back
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| Hey lady, what color is that you’ve got in your hair
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| Sorry dude, but that dress and high heels threw me for a second there
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| The fact that don’t even phase me is freakin' me out
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| Am I gettin' used to these lunatics who can’t discern between fiction and fact
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| I’ve got to get back to the farm, where the cars aren’t alarmed
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| And the people are happy to see ya
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| Where the world’s biggest stars hang above my backyard
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| And there’s room to stretch out and relax
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| My truck is gassed up and I’m packed
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| I’m goin' back
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| Going on back
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| Windmills and dirt roads, and bean fields, my kinfolk
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| It don’t get much better than that
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| I’ve got to get back to the farm, where the cars aren’t alarmed
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| And the people are happy to see you
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| Where the world’s biggest stars hang above my backyard
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| And there’s room to stretch out and relax
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| My truck is gassed up and I’m packed
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| I’m goin' back
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| Goin' back
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| Yeah, I’m goin' back
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| Can’t wait to get back
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| Give me some more of that hee-haw! |