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One can't avoid high-voltage culture shock when one moves from Arkansas to California. Sitting outside a bar in Bakersfield, cooling down an overheated Chevy S-10, counting my dwindling stack of green, I was reflecting on my old band and beautiful Arkansas, questioning why I had chosen to leave. My wife, however, was spinning around the parking lot and laughing, oblivious to any of my fears. Her courage became mine and we drove on.
A homesick fever finally breaks.
And we're glad you came - it's good to see you here again
For the hundredth time. I can't believe you haven't changed.
But back in Arkansas, we must have thought that we were kings,
But this is Bakersfield, and now it doesn't mean a thing.
There was the whippoorwill - I swear I never heard one out here.
And the sky has changed; we have lost our Milky Way.
But back in Arkansas, every hour a shooting star.
But this is Bakersfield, and this, another lousy bar.
And I can't believe we come this far, and I'm worried about the car,
And about the rain.
And we got taken on this bag of weed, and I taste another seed,
So let's go home.
And we made it here; I can't believe we made it past Needles.
So let's have a beer: we won't be buying nothing for a while.
But things are better now that I can finally stretch my wings,
And this is Bakersfield, and you've become my everything.