Down on railroad there's a junkie with tracks in his arms,
And from my window I can see hookers flagging down cars,
Well, around here the sun only shines for a couple of days,
And when it does they'll be hippies in everyone's way.

But the states are covered by roads,
From New York to Ohio,
And eventually no matter how far you go,
You'll realize you want to go home

I know that it's hard to admit but it feels kind of nice,
To say that you hate a place everybody else likes,

But the states are covered by roads,
From New York to Ohio,
And eventually no matter how far you go,
You'll realize you want to go home