Pushed around this dirty old town
Had to move so many times it makes my head spin round
What it is that keeps me here
Is hard to say - the answer's not real clear
I guess it casts a spell that's hard to break
Like December's ice on a mountain lake
I've tried to get out but I don't have the heart
To keep all my friends and make a new start
There's a fly buzzin' around my eight-by-twelve home
Where I can spend the afternoon all alone
Don't need much, don't you know
I don't need a TV or a VCR or a touch-tone telephone
All you people who try to sell the land
You don't see the problem, you don't seem to understand
All you're doing is making one big mess
'cause bigger isn't better, and money isn't happiness