Little town, little matters,
Ant hills are made into mountains.
Giant rolling fields pocked by corn husk cadavers,
With mountains that keep you locked inside their blue walls.
It has quaint, beautiful people that walk the streets,
With sharp claws hidden behind grocery baskets and purses.
The girls grow up to be their mothers, the boys their fathers,
And no one ever really leaves this little town for good.
I cannot live along people that don't look towards the sky,
Not even once in their life,
And i will not be at church on Sunday,
Sitting with the sinners I spent Saturday night with.
I am a happy woman,
Too happy for this town.
I'm breaking down those mountains.
I'm Carolina bound.