Текст Gene Watson – The New York Times

My woman always talked about the New York City life
She never really wanted to be a country boy’s wife
Opening nights on Broadway were always on her mind
She couldn’t seem to live without what she called the New York Times

I walked in from work one day and didn’t find her home
But I didn’t have to wonder long figuring where she’d gone
Love was all I had to give so she left me behind
To go up there somewhere, looking for the New York Times

Hey, New York City, won’t you have a little pity
On this poor Texas country boy
Somewhere around your big apple town
I’ve lost my pride and joy

I’ve walked up and down every street around
Till I think I’m going out of my mind
If I don’t find my baby today
I’ll run an ad in the New York Times

I’ve been down 5th Avenue, even up old Broadway
And I searched all the honky tonks like the Lone Star Cafe
Lord, I wish I could give her up and erase her from my heart
But here I stand a broken man in the middle of Central Park