|
I'd like to say it was perfect |
|
Growing up was a fairytale |
|
But Hollywood don't make no movies |
|
About a house up on wheels down a dirt road, Mississippi |
|
Tucked back in the trees |
|
Route 3 Box 250 D |
|
Well the man my mama married |
|
Had a mean streak in his blood |
|
And when he took to drinking |
|
He'd take it out on us |
|
And I could hear my mama crying |
|
That made it hard to sleep |
|
Route 3 Box 250 D |
|
That's where I became a man |
|
Long before my time |
|
And since I left I ain't been back |
|
But I go back in my mind |
|
Thank God for Buford Bailey |
|
He had a pond he'd let me fish |
|
That's where I'd run off to |
|
Every chance I'd get |
|
And I would pray that God was listening |
|
And He'd come rescue me |
|
Route 3 Box 250 D |
|
Then one day, my uncle pulled up in a pickup truck |
|
Loaded up everything |
|
Wasn't much but it was everything |
|
I'd like to say it was perfect |
|
That growing up was a fairytale |
|
But Hollywood don't make no movies |
|
About a house up on wheels down a dirt road, Mississippi |
|
But that's what made me leave |
|
Route 3 Box 250 D |
