Writing lies from a guiding light
shield your eyes or they'll wind up right
and take an idea or even a drag from you
Dead end jobs that promise a deal
minimum wage and the dreams they steal
With no degree in the lower field,

Miss come
miss come on back home,
Miss come
I got a home for you

Beating sheets on a beaten street
Dust and moth just need to eat
but they chose my sleeves
and socks and feet
Barefoot boys and gallop girls,
training for their lively roles
you're born to win
but you'll probably lose
shoot the caps and spin and spin and spin
the cowboy falls to the champion
cause he couldn't shoot the indian
the gallop girls laugh
and the cowboy holds his back

Miss come home,
I'd like to be with you now.