|It's a middle of nowhere, nobody comes here town|You're either born and raised and you stay or you turn right around|Podunk, court house, stop light blinking|Four wheels, corn fields, I know what you're thinking||Who'd wanna live in this place|Who'd wanna suffer the fate|Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt|Who'd wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit|We do, and a few of us know what it's worth|A little buckshot dot on a map it might be|But it's the world to me||I know these hollers and hills and fields down to every square inch|I know every name sprayed in Dupont paint on that bridge|Had my first kiss, learned to shift gears on these back roads|All that and all of this makes me one of those||Who'd wanna live in this place|Who'd wanna suffer the fate|Of a life spent pulling a plow through the dirt|Who'd wanna put down roots in a blue collar suit|We do, and a few of us know what it's worth|A little buckshot dot on a map it might be|Oh, but it's the world to me||It's those Friday night games|Barry's Tavern on Main|Where we got a cold beer after a hard day's work|It's who we are through and through|From our hats to our boots|It's the truth, and we all know what it's worth|A little buckshot dot on a map it might be|But it's the world to me||Oh, the world to me|