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