Well I grew up wild and free
Walkin€™ these fields in my bare feet
There wasn€™t no place I couldn€™t go
With a twenty-two rifle and a fishing pole
CHORUS:
Well I live in the city but don€™t fit in
You know its a pity the shape I€™m in
Well I got no home and I got no choice
Oh Lord, have mercy on a country boy
When I was young I remember well
I€™d hunt the wild turkey and the bob-white quail
The river was clear and deep back then
And fishin€™ lines tied to the willow limb
Well they dammed the river, they dammed the stream
They cut down the cypress and the sweet gum trees
There€™s a laundra€™ mat and a barber shop
And now the whole meadow is a parkin€™ lot