| I’ve seen him plow a field of corn all day
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| That’s reality
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| His overalls are black with dirt
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| But his face is still full of dignity
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| He talks about the waether
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| And he can tell you when it’s gonna rain
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| Told me 'bout the flood of Twenty-Nine
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| That washed the crops away
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| Underneath that Alabama sky
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| Grandpa told me 'bout the things he’d seen
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| Underneath that Alabama sky
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| I listened to my Grandpa’s memories
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| At times he mentions Grandma
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| Turn his head and wipe away a tear
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| Sometimes we’d take her picture down
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| And sit and pretend that she’s still here
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| Three girls and two boys he raised on love
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| And simple honesty
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| And when they fin’lly have to carry him away
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| They’ll take a lot of me Underneath that Alabama sky
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| Grandpa told me 'bout the things he’d seen
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| Underneath that Alabama sky
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| I listened to my Grandpa’s memories
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| Underneath that Alabama sky
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| My Grandpa told me 'bout the things he’d seen
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| Underneath that Alabama sky
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| I listened to my Grandpa’s memories |