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Going Back Home
Our love was like the afternoon sun,
that melted those New York City streets.
But you treated me like dried-up grass,
that just crumbled underneath your feet.
I can’t be who you want me to be,
my blood’s country red not city blue.
Don’t know if I’ll find where I should be,
but I know it sure ain’t here with you.
Champagne and caviar ain’t my style,
they sure don’t mean anything to me.
Drinking all night is no way to live,
homesick and lonesome’s no way to be.
I’d rather live in a one-room shack,
somewhere I can hold my head up high.
Than to live inside your gold mansion,
waiting for life to pass me on by.
Let me be a penniless beggar,
with my heart beating proud in my chest.
I know it’s the truth when they say that,
money cannot buy me happiness.
So I’m headed back to those mountains,
just as fast as I possibly can.
Cause there ain’t no place in this city,
for just one more poor ole country man.
Copyright ©
Jerry Brotherton
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