| Well I said goodbye to Rosie Rooke this morning
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| I’m gonna miss her bloodshot alcoholic eyes
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| She wore her Sunday hat so she’d impress me
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| I’m gonna carry her memory 'til the day I die
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| They’ll move me up to Muswell Hill tomorrow
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| Photographs and souvenirs are all I’ve got
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| They’re gonna try and make me change my way of living
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| But they’ll never make me something that I’m not
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| Cos I’m a Muswell Hillbilly boy
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| But my heart lies in old West Virginia
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| Never seen New Orleans, Oklahoma, Tennessee
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| Still I dream of those Black Hills that I ain’t never seen
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| They’re putting us in identical little boxes
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| No character just uniformity
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| They’re trying to build a computerised community
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| But they’ll never make a zombie out of me
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| They’ll try and make me study elocution
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| Because they say my accent isn’t right
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| They can clear the slums as part of their solution
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| But they’re never gonna kill my cockney pride
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| Cos I’m a Muswell Hillbilly boy
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| But my heart lies in Old West Virginia
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| Though my hills, they’re not green
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| I have seen them in my dreams
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| Take me back to those Black Hills
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| That I ain’t never seen
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| I’m a Muswell Hillbilly boy
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| But my heart lies in Old West Virginia
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| Though my hills, they’re not green
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| I have seen them in my dreams
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| Take me back to those Black Hills
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| That I ain’t never seen |