| This mule ain’t from Moscow.
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| This mule ain’t from the South.
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| But this mule’s had some learnin'
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| Mostly mouth-to-mouth.
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| This mule could be called stubborn, and lazy,
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| But in a clever sorta' way
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| This mule could be workin', waitin' and learnin' and plannin'
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| For a sacred kind of day-
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| A day when burnin' sticks and crosses
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| Is not mere child’s play,
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| But a madman in his most incandescent bloom
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| Whose lover’s soul is imperfection, in its most lustrous groom.
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| So stand, fast young Romeo
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| Soothe in contemplation
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| Thy burning whole and aching thigh
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| Your stubbornness is ever-living
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| And cruel anxiety is about to die.
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| Freedom for your daddy
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| Freedom for your momma
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| Freedom for your brothers and sisters
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| But no freedom for me.
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| Freedom for your daddy’s daddy
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| Freedom for your momma’s momma
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| Freedom for your brothers and sisters
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| But no freedom for me.
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| Freedom for your daddy’s daddy
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| Freedom for your momma’s momma
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| Freedom for your brothers and sisters
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| But no freedom for me. |