Well, I'm just a workin' man's dollar. In the pocket of his old blue jeans. I ain't like my Wall Street brother. He's in a bank so shiny and clean. . Well, I'm faded and I'm wrinkled.
The Nashville friends, they think I'm strange. To make my home out on the range. They think it's nothin' but a God forsaken land. Why don't you bring your guitar and family, move on down to Tennessee.