| It was June or September, don’t rightly remember
|
| First time I laid eyes on you
|
| It was June or September, Seattle or Denver
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| First time I laid eyes on you
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| You wore black silky stocking with a seam down the back
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| Your dress it was split to your thighs
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| And your hair was a place for a dozen red roses
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| After it smothered your side
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| And you dealt in the card games in smoky saloons
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| Mornings you saw the sun rise
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| But as you soon I’d leave you I’d look to your photographs
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| Teardrops would swell in your eyes
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| There were three tiny daughters that lived with your mother
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| You only wanted their best
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| But you could not give them the things that you wanted to
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| You only wanted their best
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| It was June or September, don’t rightly remember
|
| First time I laid eyes on you
|
| It was June or September, Seattle or Denver
|
| First time I laid eyes on you |