| Traveling Sunday
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| Is fine west of here
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| Most folks are staying at home
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| If you want to come on
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| You better meet me there
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| Cause I’ve got some country to own
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| With the short stops made for runnin
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| A big glass to let the sun in
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| And serve you in a real time movie
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| With the tracks point past the vulture
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| Straight out to counterculture
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| There’s no other place to find me, then
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| On this rolling home
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| Time goes by so slow
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| I’d get off but it’s my rolling home
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| The one of you gets in
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| Trouble right there
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| Is the other in chains by your side
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| But days have been lucky
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| There’ve been no cement floors
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| But don’t bet it all we’ve got some time
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| Cause in the land of the moving suns
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| And moons that fly one by one
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| Provided shades don’t shut against them
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| Cause in the mind of the sleepy eyed
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| And heavy armed and slumber tried
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| There’s one spot never apprehensive
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| To go
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| On this rolling home
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| Time goes by so slow
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| I’d get off but it’s my rolling home
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| Streaked streets all stand between
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| The fields that tuck you in
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| As you lay on a seat you claim to own
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| I’ll never recall a single
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| Stranger friend
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| But inside I’ve never left my rolling home
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| So if your night’s sleep’s interrupted
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| Your sleep’s dreams gets corrupted
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| By a steady rolling thunder
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| Or a day’s drive gets delayed
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| A route you’d never take
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| From now on you’ll never have to wonder
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| On this rolling home
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| Time goes by so slow
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| I’d get off but it’s my rolling home
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| On this rolling home
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| On this rolling home
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| On this rolling home
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| I roam |