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When I was eight years old |
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I tried to leave the farm |
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I flew a homemade plane |
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Out of the loft of the barn |
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If I could go back now |
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You couldn't pay me to leave |
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'Cause that old gravel road was easy street |
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We were a four-dog family |
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With some dreams and a flat-bed truck |
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That ole school bus would rattle and shake |
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When it would pick us up |
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Those creek bank rocks |
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Were hard on our feet |
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But that ole gravel road was easy street |
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That ole gravel road was easy street |
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They used to say we were poor |
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But we were rich as we could be |
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We were down on our luck |
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But we were up to our necks in homemade love |
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That ole gravel road was easy street |
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I thought having it made |
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Was growing up |
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Movin' off to town, getting' married |
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And going to work |
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But those sidewalks |
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Ain't all they're cracked up to be |
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That ole gravel road was easy street |
