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White Trash Nostalgia
The roller rink's still standing
The high school's going strong
With hopes a winning season
Will return before too long
Those golden years of glory..
Parts remembered, parts forgot
Then he looks up another address
And sees another empty lot
The sidewalk where he donned his skates
The place he skinned his knee
The alley full of treasure
The stump of the mulberry tree
Cross out another souvenir
For the white trash ghetto tour
There's no historical society
To save the dwellings of the poor
Six months here and three months there
Mom paid the weekly rent
He didn't even know the names
To half the schools he went
The corner house on Abilene
A stucco, pink pastel
Is now a fine convenience store
Run by this guy Patel
That's where he got that little scar
At the corner of his mouth
The boyfriend's fist was heading north
When his face was pointed south
Nothing to see here, move along folks
Let's sing the old school song
For his only pair of patched up jeans
That he wore all winter long
Don't forget the junior high school
Where he took the poetry prize
But had to drop the art class
Cause he couldn't buy supplies
He must have looked up three more places
But found not a memory
I guess white trash nostalgia
Isn't what it used to be
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