| Hurry home my wayward son
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| There’ll be a feast when you are done
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| Stay here with me and be blest
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| Don’t you hide no more
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| Once I raised a couple boys -- yes, my two sons
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| Didn’t ever think that I’d ever lose one
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| I was sure he’d never try it
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| But he grew too wild
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| So he asked if he could have his inheritance
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| Though it saddened me I still was his parent
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| I hear my boy’s been spending freely
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| I just fear he’ll pay
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| As I’m waiting there’s a famine where he’s been
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| My son may be in the gutter and bleedin'
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| But didn’t I train him to be a wise man, well
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| He should be safe, but I don’t know
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| From the stories people tell me he’s broke and
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| Tossin' out his life to pigs in an old pen
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| I sit on the porch and wait here for him
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| Will I see my boy this day?
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| Hurry home -- you will always be my boy
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| Hurry home -- there’s no need to be shy boy
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| Though you left you’re always family
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| Surely there’s a place for you
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| Luke 15:20
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| «So he got up and came to his father. |
| But while he was still a long way off,
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| his father saw him and felt compassion for him, and ran and embraced him and
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| kissed him.» |