Tekster:
Cross Canadian Ragweed Garage

Well I miss you baby I gotta get back home to you Well I miss you baby I gotta get back home to you Ive seen a million women Only one of them will do

When you think you're doing good It all comes tumbling down When you think you'e beat it all It crashes to the ground When you gonna come around Maybe

Smokin' cigarettes got a hold of me Long about the summer of 1993 Rushin' in just like a fool Used to be my golden rule Long before I graduated school

Atlantic City I was busted And the wind was bitter cold Well, I never quite adjusted Never do, so, I suppose The odds were in my favor Going home a millionaire

I use to get stoned on my sisters record collection Gold and platinum on vinyl was the closest thing to perfection Rock & roll, acoustic guitar Not

I used to be crazy, yeah, they called me a fool Guess I wasnt myself back when I wanted you Now youre comin round again, that same old look in your eye

Same old story Same old town Same old me Same old hangin' around Same old people And the same old cars Same old lines And the same old bars If I were