| «Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy
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| Of rocket ships and Mars;
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| Of sunny days
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| And Willie Mays
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| And chocolate candy bars
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| Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy
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| Dream while you can;
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| Of big green frogs
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| And puppy dogs
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| And castles in the sand
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| For, all too soon you’ll awaken;
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| Your toys will all be gone
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| Your broomstick horse will ride away
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| To find another home
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| And you’ll have grown into a man
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| With cowboys of your own
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| And then you’ll have to go to war
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| To try and save your home
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| And then you’ll have to learn to hate;
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| You’ll have to learn to kill
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| It’s always been that way, my son;
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| I guess it always will
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| No broomstick gun they’ll hand you;
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| No longer you’ll pretend
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| You’ll call some man your enemy;
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| You used to call him 'friend.'
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| And when the rockets thunder
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| You’ll hear your brothers cry
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| And through it all you’ll wonder
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| Just why they had to die
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| So dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy
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| Dream while you can;
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| For soon, you’ll be a dreadful thing:
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| My son, you’ll be a man |