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Lyrics of a song Croce, Jim - New York's Not My Home

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Alba s touto skladbou: Grits Sandwiches for Breakfast, You Don't Mess Around With Jim,

Well things were spinnin' round me
And all my thoughts were cloudy
And I had begun to doubt
all the things that were me

Been in so many places
You know I've run so many races
And looked into the empty faces
of the people of the night
And something is just not right

'Cause I know that
I gotta get out of here
I'm so alone
Don't you know that
I gotta get out of here
'Cause New York's not my home

Though all the streets are crowded
There's somethin' strange about it
I lived there bout a year
and I never once felt at home

I thought I'd make the big time
I learned a lot of lessons awful quick
And now I'm tellin' you
that they were not the nice kind
And it's been so long since
I have felt fine

That's the reason that
I gotta get out of here
I'm so alone
Don't you know that
I gotta get out of here
'Cause New York's not my home