Well, I was born in the Southland
Twenty-some odd years ago
I ran away for the first time
When I was four years old
I’m a free born man
My home is on my back
I know every inch of highway
And every foot of back road
Every mile of railroad track
I got a gal in Cincinnati
Got a woman in San Antone
I always loved the girl next door
But anyplace is home
I got me a worn-out guitar
I carry an old tote sack
I hocked it about two hundred times
But I always get it back
You may not like my appearance
May not like my song
May not tike the way I talk
But you like the way I’m gone