Jacqueline Woodson - New york city lyrics

Maybe it's another New York City the southerners talk about. Maybe that's where there is money falling from the sky, diamonds speckling the sidewalks Here there is only gray rock, cold and treeless as a bad dream. Who could love this place-where no pine trees grow, no porch swing moves with the weight of your grandmother. This place is a Greyhound bus humming through the night then letting out a deep breath inside a place called Port Authority. This place is a driver yelling, New York City, last stop. Everybody off. This place is loud and strange and nowhere I'm ever going to call home.