Lyrics
I hope my kids can grow up just like me, she how we come together when the church bell rings
The shoulder i broke down on when a good friend died, brought some back home to their front porch, a place we parked and fogged windows
A paved carpet where we rode our bikes, we ve dreamed for years about this day
Momma walkin me to my first bus route, a hundred miles from the city s cold concrete Brody, yeah round here old rural route number three
Brought some back home to their front porch, she how we come together when the church bell rings Rural, a boy from overseas came back to town
She s taken sons to foreign shores, a general store and last stop for gasoline
A quarter inch on a fold out map, a quarter inch on a fold out map
Black boots marchin through ticker tape, a way to college and christmas back home
the shoulder i broke down on when a good friend died
It was one lane in and one lane out, we ve dreamed for years about this day
Where we live, she thought i didn t notice but saw her cry, a quarter inch on a fold out map
I hope my kids can grow up just like me, my first memory is wrapped around Dean, i hope my kids can grow up just like me
How the mail came in and how our town survived, instrumental fade out, riding the blacktops hot heatwaves
Cry and laugh, where we live
Momma walkin me to my first bus route, riding the blacktops hot heatwaves, a country road they built around
It was one lane in and one lane out, cry and laugh
A boy from overseas came back to town, where we live
The shoulder i broke down on when a good friend died, she how we come together when the church bell rings
A quarter inch on a fold out map, a paved carpet where we rode our bikes, a place we parked and fogged windows
a way to college and christmas back home
Where we live, brought some back home to their front porch
Riding the blacktops hot heatwaves, she s taken sons to foreign shores
Brought some back home to their front porch, on a country road like rural route number three
When we d take those five yellow ribbons down, i hope my kids can grow up just like me
Instrumental fade out, is more than just a crossing for tumbleweeds Route, black boots marchin through ticker tape
she s taken sons to foreign shores
It was one lane in and one lane out, riding the blacktops hot heatwaves, when we d take those five yellow ribbons down