Let a Poor Man Be

I’m gonna move to the outskirts of town Where none of your friends are hanging around That’s right, I’m gonna move to the other side of town Where none of your business is hanging around Woman, please let a poor man be. Let a poor man be Columbia, girl, please let a poor man be. Let a poor man be I’m gonna build a castle out of Goodyear tires Cinderblock and busted doors; that’s where I’ll retire Gonna dig a mote. Fill it up with ale Not much of a defense, I know, but the supply never fails When you come knocking all in tears wringing hands and genuflecting You’ll understand that I am a busy man and my subjects demand my attention These walls don’t build themselves and I am running out of time So if you desire anything else, you had better get in line