Born and raised in Pittsburgh, with a heart of burnished steel, Tempered in the fiery forges, that's the only truth I feel. But my grand-mammy and grandpappy, they’d spin a country yarn, ‘Bout the simple, honest living, way out beyond the barn. Grandpappy’s "bear-scars" on his neck, the one he swore he got in fight, I think he tripped outside the bar on a particularly rough Friday night. Now I've spent too many years just noddin', sippin’ on my cheap domestic brew, It’s time to take the car and check if any single tale is true! (Chorus) Oh, the family story’s always shaky, they could never quite decide, Which blue-hued Appalachian ridge, they'd always run to hide. Was it up in the Catskills? Maybe just the Alleghenies near? The vast Adirondacks? Or where the Great Smokies disappear? I'll trade the steel mill's heat and grime for a scenic mountain view, I’m heading out this weekend, gonna find out what’s true! I’ll start with the Alleghenies, they're close enough for a quick run, Plenty of ridges and deep valleys, where a steelworker can find some sun. If my roots are there, they’ll be rough and ready, like the coal and the stone. No fancy Catskill antique shops, just where the old woods groan. I’ll drive to the Catskills next, they say the trout fishing's great and clear, I bet Grandpappy’s big "haul" was just a fish he bought with half-priced beer. I’ll pack my boots and find a hiking trail, forget the urban blight, But if I see a scary shadow, I’m booking the first flight! Now the tales got grander, if they went way up to the Adirondacks tall, That's the real wilderness, son, where you truly could risk a fall. A thousand miles of pristine water, that's not a weekend hike for friends, If my folks were truly Adirondack lumberjacks, the wild fib never ends. And then there's the Great Smokies, all that humid Southern air, With the hazy blue of the temperate rain, and critters everywhere. They're the lush, crowded, famous mountains, a National Park on the map, Too warm and lovely for my grand-folks, they prefer a dark Pittsburgh trap! So I drove through all four ranges, from the highest peak to the glen, And nowhere did I see the ghost of Grandpappy, fighting bears again. No hidden cabin, no homestead sign, no truth to the rural dream, But the hills are pretty, and the air is fresh, so I guess the lie's redeemed. I’m headed back to Pittsburgh, where the steel glows bright and hot, Those family tall-tales are still good, whether they’re true or not!
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