Gone Country - Alan Jackson (karaoke)

Confessions

She's been playing in a room on the strip for ten years in Vegas
Every night she looks in the mirror and she only ages
She's been readin' about Nashville and all the records that everybody's buying
Says, I'm a simple girl myself, grew up on Long Island

So she packs her bags to try her hand
Says this might be my last chance

She's gone country, look at them boots
She's gone country, back to her roots
She's gone country, a new kind of suit
She's gone counrty, here she comes

Well the folk scene's dead, but he's holding out in the Village
He's been writing songs, speaking out against wealth and privilege
He says, I don't believe in money, but a man could make him a killin'
'Cause some of that stuff don't sound much different than Dylan

I hear down there it's changed, you see
Well, they're not as backward as they used to be

He's gone country, look at his boots
He's gone country, back to his roots
He's gone country, a new kind of suit
He's gone country, here he comes

He commutes to L.A., but he's got a house in the Valley
But the bills are piling up and the pop scene just ain't on the rally
And he says, honey, I'm a serious composer, schooled in voice and composition
But with the crime and the smog these days, this ain't no place for children

Lord, it sounds so easy, this shouldn't take long
Be back in the money in no time at all

He's gone country, look at them boots
He's gone country, back to his roots
He's gone country, a new kind of suit
He's gone country, here he comes

Yeah, he's gone country, a new kind of walk
He's gone country, a new kind of talk
He's gone country, look at them boots
He's gone country, oh, back to his roots

He's gone country
He's gone country
Everybody's gone country
Yeah, we've gone county
The whole worild's gone country