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It's a middle of nowhere, nobody comes here town |
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You're either born and raised and you stay or you turn right around |
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Pulled on, court house, stop light blinking |
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Four wheels, corn fields, I know what you're thinking |
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Who'd wanna live in this place |
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Who'd wanna suffer the fate |
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Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt |
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Who'd wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit |
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We do, and a few of us know what it's worth |
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A little buckshot dot on a map it might be |
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But it's the world to me |
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I know these hollers and hills and fields down to every square inch |
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I know every name sprayed in Dupont paint on that bridge |
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Had my first kiss, learned to shift gears on these back roads |
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All that and all of this makes me one of those |
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Who'd wanna live in this place |
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Who'd wanna suffer the fate |
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Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt |
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Who'd wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit |
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We do, and a few of us know what it's worth |
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A little buckshot dot on a map it might be |
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Oh, but it's the world to me |
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It's those Friday night games |
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Barry's Tavern on Main |
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Where we got a cold beer after a hard day's work |
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It's who we are through and through |
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From our hats to our boots |
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It's the truth, and we all know what it's worth |
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A little buckshot dot on a map it might be |
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But it's the world to me |
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Oh, the world to me |
