Hey Son, how you been?
I hear that Los Angeles
can turn boys to men
Yeah well, hey Pop
ya k ow, it's not quite like that
It's more like they turn dreams
into cold, hard facts
And I feel like coming home
I feel all alone
Somewhere in Nebraska
A ghost of the Boss's harp blows
And somewhere on I-80
an 18-wheeler rolls
And there's a little boy
riding shotgun
His Papa's listening to Hoyt Axton
and they're trying to find the alphabet
in the license plates as they pass 'em
And I miss you
I'm sorry I never tell you
But a man has got an ego
that won't let him say
what he needs to
Like, "I feel like coming home
I feel all alone."
And I feel like coming home
I feel all alone
Hey Son, how you been?
I hear that Los Angeles
can turn boys to men
