well you can play that old-time music

you can sing those country songs

and all the children of the cities

they have learned to play along

from a downtown window

busy corner

skies are hidden

and there aint no trees

but you can hear that music playing

that sweet-tongued fiddle playing

and it floats through the dusty air

like a country breeze



well they leave the farms

and they leave the small towns

cause they heard that the cities pay

but at night they go from the yards

and the factories

to join the crowds down main street way

in smoky barrooms

at crowded tables

they down their beer

and they talk about home

theyve come to hear that music playing

that sweet-sad fiddle playing

things that you never hear

till youre on your own



so play for them some down home music

yeah sing for them those country songs

and all your children

lost in the cities

they cant help but sing along

sing of prairie summers

Ottawa river

and Sunday mornings

in a small Quebec town

just try and leave it all behind you

wherever you go itll find you

that sweet-sad country music

like a lover, friend, or brother

its gonna follow you down