| Dirt road, Georgia, childhood days
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| A sawmill way of life
|
| Where I grew up to love a rich girl
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| Who could never be my wife
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| And the roses near their mansion
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| On a cool, Southern ground
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| She cut a memory into mine
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| But I had to leave that town
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| Dirt poor, backwoods, I was raised
|
| Now the lawman’s comin' 'round
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| Mama said, «I raised a good boy
|
| But he burnt the sawmill down»
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| It’s been years since I left Georgia
|
| And I left there on the run
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| They say her daddy’s still in a rage
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| Over what I done
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| But he shot at me for lovin' her
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| Thought he run me outta town
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| But I hid until the mornin' light
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| Then I burned his sawmill down
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| I still love that long-haired girl
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| There’s a price tag on my head
|
| Her daddy owns the county law
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| And if I go back there, I’m dead
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| So I just dream of Southern roses
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| And miss the love we found
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| Lord, I wish I’d never been born poor
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| Or burnt the sawmill down
|
| It’s been years since I left Georgia
|
| And I left there on the run
|
| They say her daddy’s still in a rage
|
| Over what I done
|
| He shot at me for lovin' her
|
| Thought he run me outta town
|
| But I hid until the mornin' light
|
| Then I burned his sawmill down
|
| Dirt poor, backwoods, I was raised
|
| Now the lawman’s comin' 'round
|
| Mama said, «I raised a good boy
|
| But he burnt the sawmill down»
|
| Mama said, «I raised a good boy
|
| But he burnt the sawmill down» |