The people in this city call me country,
Because of how I walk and talk and smile.
Well I don't mind them laughing in the city,
But the country folks all say I'm citified.
The fighting men they say that I'm a coward.
Because I never push no one around.
Gentle people call me trouble-maker,
Cause I'll always fight and stand my ground.
Funny I don't fit.
Where have all the average people gone?
Some pious people point and call me sinner,
Because to them I've never seen the lights.
Other folks think of me as a preacher.
I'm just doing what I think is right.
The wealthy people think that I am a hobo,
Lean and hungry, writing mournful songs.
And the poor, poor people think I am a rich man,
But really, I'm just trying to get along.
It's funny I don't fit.
Tell me where have all the average people gone?
And the government has given me a number,
To simplify my birth and life and death.
And still my woman thinks I'm awful important,
Like the moon and the sun and the sea and the sky and breath.
