Goodbye, city lights, neon hearts, don't tempt me anymore
Farewell, Italian suits, I'm walking right out this door
Mama's apple pie, the taste is like it always used to do
And little Luce, my faithful cow, will greet me with a happy mood
Going back to my plow, to my old blue jeans
Drinking beer from the barrel, good old-fashioned sins
Going back to my plow
I'm coming home, mama, I'm coming home
I'll breathe country air to clean the city smug out of my lungs
And I'll grow country hair while singing the more familiar songs
Going back to my plow, to my rusty focus, son
Bob will call me buddy, and old folks call me son
Going back to my plow
I'm coming home, mama
Back to my plow
Take it forth, boys
L.A.
Back to my plow
To my old blue jeans


Back to my plow
To my old blue jeans
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
To my old blue jeans
Blue jeans drinking, beer from the barrel
Good old-fashioned sins going
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
Back to my plow, to my rusty focus sound
Bob called me buddy, baby
And old folks call me son
Going back to my plow
I'm coming home, mama
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
Pick your teeth with a bowie knife
Fire my gun in my nape
I'm coming home
I'll kiss my little teenage wife
It's getting cause of labor
I'm coming home
I'll roll myself in horse manure
To get that country feeling
I'm coming home
I love that country smell
It's so damn appealing
I'm coming home
All the cigars flamed you, boy
I'm coming home
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
I'm coming home
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
Back to my plow
I'm coming home
Back to my plow
I'm coming home