| I remember in my younger years
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| Walking to the city pool
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| Got yelled at, called a faggot
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| From this kid I knew in school
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| His dad, and dad before him
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| Lived outside of town
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| With a lack of education
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| The options weren’t around
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| Sometimes I’d see that boy in class
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| With bruises on his eyes
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| Red and pretty swollen
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| Tears tangled up in pride
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| Repeating memorized rhetoric
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| About it being God’s way
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| And if I didn’t follow the good book
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| There’d be some hell to pay
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| But I don’t blame you for how you turned out
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| A habit’s hard to break
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| You’re were born into what you became
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| And I was born this way
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| I can try to show compassion
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| Before you take that shot
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| Out here in the open
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| …Whether I like it or not
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| Driving back from a party
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| With friends on Saturday night
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| I slowed down to a wreckage
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| In the coldest part of night
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| That boy who called me faggot
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| Lie bleeding, almost dead
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| He wrecked that truck from drinking
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| And the windshield met his head
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| I pulled him from the driver seat
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| Said help is on its way
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| Put my hand up upon his chest
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| Said it’ll be okay
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| When he focused on my likeness
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| I could see it in his eyes
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| Everything he’d been taught to hate
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| Would finally save his life
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| And the irony about this
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| I told him with a smile
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| Your God must work in stranger ways
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| Than your heart will allow
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| He caught his breath between the tears
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| His eyes bloodshot and dim
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| His rebel-flag, tattooed hand, holding mine to him
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| He said…
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| Please don’t blame me for how I turned out, I learned a little late
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| I was born into what I became
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| And you were born this way
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| I can try to show compassion
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| That might be all I’ve got
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| Out here in the open
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| …Whether I like it or not |