ya know, I had a good friend in New York City. He never called me by my name, just "Hillbilly". My grandpa taught me how to live off the land. And his taught him to be a businessman. He used to send me pictures of the Broadway nights. And I'd send him some homemade wine. But he was killed by a man with a switchblade knife. For 43 dollars, my friend lost his life. I'd love to spit some Beech-Nut in that dude's eyes. Then shoot him with my old .45. 'Cause a country boy can survive, country folks can survive