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letra de a place we could call home (turncoat collective) - spud bugs

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sitting by the tracks out side of the yard
i hear the whistle blowing the trains chuggin hard by the time it gets to us, it’s going to fast to hop
underneath the bridge in nashville tennessee finally the train stops just for me, but not before we get hassled by the cops

so its back out on the road
same stories are always told
to me it don’t get old

well i grew up in the backwoods, moved out into the streets
so not to burden those i love and i got somewhere to sleep
because i refuse to sell myself, shorter than i’m worth

so i wake up in the morning with the sun beating down
upon my dirty face as i lie on the ground
pack up my gear and its time for a long days work

so it’s back out on the road
same stories are always told
to me it don’t get old

while you’re whining about being alone
complaining about being cold
to me it don’t get old

spending most my time on street corners and on ramps
i’ve been searching through the city for a place to camp
stuffing my face with some strangers leftovers
cause there’s no sense in paying for what should be free
like food, transportation, and property!
i’ll die before accepting wages from some lazy share holders

so it’s back out on the road
same stories are always told
to me it don’t get old

while you’re whining about being alone
complaining about being cold
to me it don’t get old!

search for something more the older that i get
if we can change the world even a little bit
but its hard to make a change when you’re in it on your own

and all the country miles that we all can walk!
and all the f-cking freight trains we could hop!
couldn’t lead us to a place we could call home
we could call home
a place we could call home
we could call home
a place we could call home

- spud bugs

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