I look out on the grave of New York City
|
And to see some children playing in the snow
|
Central Park in winter should look pretty
|
But New York ain't a place for kids to grow
|
And my mem'ry takes me back again to winters that I've seen
|
Fields and wooden hills where snow could fall and keep its clean
|
Where I'd awaken to the wonder of the Oklahoma morn
|
City boy city boy country born
|
|
And I saw the garbage's scours plaugh up the river
|
Filled with things New Yorkers throw away
|
And I watch the skinny dippin' children and I shiver
|
The Hudson River ain't no place to play
|
And my mem'ry takes me back again to rivers that I've seen
|
Lazy country rivers that just flow and feed the green
|
You can fish 'em you can swim 'em you can drink 'em when you're warm
|
City boy city boy country born
|
|
And I watch the hard eyed New York City mothers
|
As they hurry home across the Brooklin Bridge
|
To feed their children dixy cups of insatant coffee
|
And a frozen TV dinners fom the fridge
|
And my mem'ry takes me back again to dinners that I've seen
|
Home cured crisped bacon buttered corn and country beans
|
And a cup of mama's coffee cooking stoves that kept me warm
|
City boy city boy country born
|
|
-----------------
|
City Boy Country Born
|
| Henson Cargill |
