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Next we have the dear-hearts-and-gentle-people's school of songwriting, in which the singer tells you that, no matter how much sin and vice and crime go on where he comes from, it's still the be |
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Ace in the world because it's home, you know. sort of gets you. this example is called my home town. |
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I really have a yen |
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To go back once again, |
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Back to the place where no one wears a frown, |
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To see once more those super-special just plain folks |
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In my home town. |
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No fellow could ignore |
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The little girl next door, |
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She sure looked sweet in her first evening gown. |
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Now there's a charge for what she used to give for free |
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In my home town. |
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I remember dan, the druggist on the corner, 'e |
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Was never mean or ornery, |
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He was swell. |
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He killed his mother-in-law and ground her up real well, |
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And sprinkled just a bit |
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Over each banana split. |
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The guy that taught us math, |
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Who never took a bath, |
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Acquired a certain measure of renown, |
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And after school he sold the most amazing pictures |
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In my home town. |
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That fellow was no fool |
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Who taught our sunday school, |
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And neither was our kindly parson brown. |
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We're recording tonight so i have to leave this line out. |
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In my home town. |
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I remember sam, he was the village idiot. |
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And though it seems a pity, it |
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Was so. |
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He loved to burn down houses just to watch the glow, |
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And nothing could be done, |
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Because he was the mayor's son. |
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The guy that took a knife |
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And monogrammed his wife, |
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Then dropped her in the pond and watched her drown. |
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Oh, yes indeed, the people there are just plain folks |
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In my home town. |
