| Old man knocked on my front door
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| With a teenage boy and a couple more from up the road
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| He had him by the collar
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| Said he caught him shooting beer bottles
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| Down in the holler and smoking
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| I said is that right
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| He said, they won’t speak when spoken to
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| So which one here belongs to you
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| And I know one does
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| Cause they all started running to your back forty
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| When they saw me coming on my gator
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| I look in the eye
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| And I said, He’s mine that one
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| Got a wild-hair side and them some
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| There’s no surprise what He’s done
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| He’s ever last bit of my old man’s son
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| If you knew me then
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| There 'd be no question in your mind
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| You’d know he’s mine- yeah he is
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| Friday night the football games
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| I was living for the speakers
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| To call the name
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| On the back of number thirty-seven
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| Just one Forty-five
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| And five foot eleven — maybe
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| Limelight barely shined on hime
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| But everyone still remember when
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| He whooped up on that boy way bigger
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| For thinking that cheap shot our little kicker
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| And they threw him out
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| Man, you should have, you should have hear me shot
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| I yelled he’s mine that one
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| Got a wild-hair side and then some
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| There’s No surprise what he’s done
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| He’s every last last bit of my old man’s son
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| And I’ll take the blame
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| And claim him every time
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| Yeah man, he’s mine and he’ll always be
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| The best thing that ever happened to me
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| You can’t turn it off like electricity
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| I will love him unconditionally
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| And I’ll take the blame
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| And claim him every time
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| Yes, sir he’s mine
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| Thank god, he’s mine |