About this one
Socks, a six-pack, and one out-of-stater getting blamed for the entire housing market.
Lyrics
[Verse 1] Walked into Walmart, couldn’t understand a word, Everybody talking, but I barely heard. Ain’t even sure what language came through, But somehow everybody knows I’m not from you. Got my “Locals Hate You” sticker on the back, Five-o-six miles and they still talk smack. I’m just trying to buy some socks and a six-pack, Meanwhile somebody’s yelling, “Go back where you’re from, Jack.” [Pre-Chorus] I said, “Hey, where’s the checkout line?” They looked at me like I crossed a state line. [Chorus] Bozeman Walmart, I don’t know what you’re saying, But I know damn well you’re complaining. Can’t understand a single word, But somehow “out-of-stater” is what I heard. You hate the traffic, you hate the growth, You hate everybody that you don’t know. But I’m just standing here with a shopping cart, Getting blamed for ruining Montana from the start. [Verse 2] Bought a pair of boots and a frozen pizza, Somebody said, “You people are the reason it’s cheaper.” I said, “Buddy, I drove here from three states away, I’m not responsible for your HOA.” You got a $900,000 house with a mountain view, Then complain about everyone moving in with you. You put up a sign saying “Keep Bozeman Weird,” Then spend all afternoon complaining about people you fear. [Chorus] Bozeman Walmart, I don’t know what you’re saying, But I know damn well you’re complaining. Can’t understand a single word, But somehow “out-of-stater” is what I heard. You hate the traffic, you hate the growth, You hate everybody that you don’t know. But I’m just standing here with a shopping cart, Getting blamed for ruining Montana from the start. [Bridge] So I’m learning Spanish just to get by, Learning every language under the Montana sky. If nobody here can understand me, I guess I finally fit in perfectly. [Final Chorus] Bozeman Walmart, now I’m one of you, Still don’t know what anybody’s saying, but I’m getting through. Locals hate me, outsiders too, Guess there’s only one thing left to do— Put that sticker on, crank the radio, Drive back east where the cold winds blow. You can keep your mountains, keep your parking lot— I’ll be the outsider you pretend you’re not.
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