Hometown lady, leavin' for the city
bags in hand, she's boardin' the train
her last look through the window, i saw her eyes were as red as mine
i waved goodbye but i can't believe she's leaving.
But a woman can't be high-class
in a lonely farmer's town
and the son of a poor man
ain't gonna turn your head around
but if you ever get lonely
just pick up the telephone
and the son of a poor man will bring you home.
Maybe soon i'll see her on some television show
painted lips and fingers singing for the world
a fashion plate for sure dancin' for your plastic world
call me up if you can but if not well i'll understand
But a woman can't be high-class
in a lonely farmer's town
and the son of a poor man
ain't gonna turn your head around
but if you ever get lonely
just pick up the telephone
and the son of a poor man will bring you home.