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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 From Letras Mania