| Santa-fe,
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| Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe,
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| My woman needs it evryday,
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| She promised this a-lad shed stay,
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| Shes rollin up a lotta bread
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| To toss away.
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| Shes in santa-fe,
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| Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe
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| Now shes opened up an old maids home,
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| Shes proud, but she needs to roam,
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| Shes gonna write herself a roadside poem,
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| About santa-fe.
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| Santa-fe,
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| Dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe.
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| Since Im never gonna cease to roam,
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| Im never, ever far from home,
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| But Ill build a geodesic dome
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| And sail away.
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| Dont feel bad.
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| No, no, no, no, dont feel bad
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| Its the best food Ive ever had.
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| Makes me feel so glad
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| That shes cooking in a home-made pad
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| She never caught a cold so bad
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| When Im away.
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| Santa-fe,
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| Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe.
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| My shrimp boats in the bay
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| I wont have my nature this way,
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| And Im leanin on the wheel each day
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| To drift away
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| From santa-fe,
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| Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe.
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| My sister looks good at home,
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| Shes lickin on an ice cream cone,
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| Shes packin her big white comb,
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| What does it weigh? |