| I can’t get the sand out of my shoes
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| This being in Florida’s done a number on my blues
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| Just the way the women walk round here
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| Its plain to see the way the sand and the sea have done a number on me
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| And the sky is threatening black and gray and the sun is a festering red
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| And her head is claiming her stats; |
| she ain’t yet risen from bed
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| So breakfast again delayed, postponed, I won’t be fed
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| The surf has swallowed him up, he’s a memory now
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| And the water’s warmer than it has been in weeks
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| Grandma lives just down the road, she’s making supper for me tonight
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| She’s been nice to me since '73 when her sun lost his lights
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| And now his ghost is a rising host above the briny blur
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| I would that soon some maid would swoon and his soul would capture her
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| He’s still a fine kid, what with all that he did, he’s a fan of mine
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| I wasn’t planning to spend so long in town
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| But the break in the weather has got the partner down
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| She won’t get out, she’s shotgun, seems she’s sewn to the seat
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| It’s a dirty old trick that I’ve yet to lick and she’s yet to beat
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| You can see it in her eyes, she was born unwise, she was born for me
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| If she mourns too long I’ll know something’s wrong and I’ll leave her be
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| You can tell by his shoes he was born to lose, he was born for me |