Hey mama, here's a letter from your sonWell, I guess my city days are done, maAnd it ain't been three weeks since you cameHey mama, I do remember what you said"Say your prayers before you go to bed, sonAnd remember, city women ain't the same"I'm like a John Deere tractor in a half-acre fieldI'm tryin' to plow furrowsWhere the soil is made of steelOh, I wish I was home, mamaWhere the blue grass is growin'And the sweet country girls don't complainHey mama, so much perfume I thought I'd drownAnd the Lord didn't seem to be nowhere aroundOh, I feel like a flower on the vineOh, she was pretty, Lord knowsThought that she would bring me joyShe laughed, and she called me "country boy" boyAnd after she had been so kindI'm like a John Deere tractor in a half-acre fieldI'm tryin' to plow furrowsWhere the soil is made of steelOh, I wish I was home, maWhere the blue grass is growin'And the fire light shimmers and shines
