| Every song I sing cuts a little bit more
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| You could never connect the copper cast with the mold
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| You could never guess, you could never guess
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| You could never guess where I come from, no
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| Every mile I drive, further down this road
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| Tears a little more off of my bones
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| And you could never guess, you could never guess
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| You could never guess where I come from, no
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| The first thing they was taught, was how to load and lock
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| Take that aim and shot, embrace the pain of shoulder blade taking stock
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| Watch 'em drop, pull the bolt back, load another up till the clip goes «pop»
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| Till you sweep your block, and you can hear a pin drop
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| In a place that’s more comfortable with «pop pop pop pop»
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| The first thing they learned, was how to plant that carbine in the earth
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| Prop that helmet on the stock, hang them dog tags from the lock
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| Say your prayers and mark the spot
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| Where the body’s interred then turn, taciturn
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| And take that walk, taste that salt
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| Sprinkle a little bit of lye in the earth, don’t cry when it hurts
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| Cause you ain’t done yet son, spill a little bit more blood
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| Everybody knows what comes from the warm wet red mud
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| Best believe, when you fall to your knees
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| You’re gon' cry, you’re gon' pray for peace
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| And they gonna plant them seeds of the winter wheat
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| And the Georgia peach watered up with your red rum
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| I know he would’ve loved this, but he had to die to give it
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| I melted down his musket, turned it to a tool
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| Tilling like a fool to see where his blood went
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| See if I can grow something beautiful above it
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| Standing guard above my garden till the seeds take root
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| Taking shade under the trees with the sweet grapefruit
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| I’ll take my yields and his old boots till the leaves shake loose
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| I will die in these fields, but my seeds will move
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| The ox and yoke know every note I hum
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| Written in the grass by the midday sun
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| The lamp lit ahead of me with the earth between my feet
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| I’ll sing a song into the breeze, let it fold the wheat |