| The women from the PTA whisper
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| They sideways glace when I walk by
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| They say look how far she’s fallen
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| And anit it just appallin'
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| While they gossip grocery line
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| But a woman’s gotta do
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| What a woman’s gotta do
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| Cause there’s always rent to pay
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| But when your kids need new shoes
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| There’s nothin' left to do
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| But to put my pride away
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| But: I, I fly over this town
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| When the sky bleeds
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| And the bars all close down
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| But I still hope and I pray
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| For something, someday
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| I tried cleanin' houses
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| And worked at the dollar mart
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| But to see my baby boys go hungry
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| It very nearly broke my heart
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| I’m not cheap and I’m not easy
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| I’m just paradin' my groceries
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| And I can handle calls and stares
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| For just a few more years
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| 'Til no one wants to look at me
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| But: I, I fly over this town
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| When the sky bleeds
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| And the bars all close down
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| But I still hope and I pray
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| For something, someday
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| I like to stop in after workin
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| For little kindness and a cup of joe
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| And the waitress is always nice to me
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| Even though I think she knows
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| She always asks me how I doin
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| If my kids caught that awful flu
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| Once she put her hand on my hand
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| And said
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| «Honey, you just do whatcha gotta do.»
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| Ch |