I had a good friend in New York City
He never called me by my name, just
HillbillyMy grandpa taught me how to live off the land
And his taught him to be a businessman
He used to send me pictures of the Broadway nights
And I'd send him some homemade wine
But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife
For forty-three dollars my friend lost his life
I'd love to spit some Beech-Nut in that dude's eyes
And shoot him with my old forty-five
'Cause a country boy can survive