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