| What a night to work the graveyard, witching hour eight
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| Sneaking whiskey in my coffee, only thing that keeps me straight
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| But whiskey dreams of you until that whistle blew
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| Blew me out the door, I was coming home to you
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| Forty hours of graveyard to get home and fry your eggs
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| Pouring coffee in my whiskey, I’ve seen trouble in the drags
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| I’ve listened to the words, Just barely overheard
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| Stabbed me in the back, I was coming home for you
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| Forty bucks to go on layaway for my own diamond ring
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| But it’s my own damn fault
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| Should have told me when they changed my shift to sway
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| You never turned and saw, saw me out the door
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| Or even heard the diesel roar
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| Hear me coming home to you
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| Forty miles an hour rising when I hit your double wide
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| Drove that tractor through the trailer
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| Coming out on yonder side
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| Did you have the breath to curse?
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| Did you cry my name as I grounded in reverse?
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| Was there anything left of you?
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| In forty days they’ll strap me down
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| With a sponge and shave my head
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| And dim the lights of this old prison
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| Cause the governor wants me dead
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| That judge would have given me life
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| But that woman was her wife
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| He was calling out my name
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| Now I’m coming
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| Now I’m coming
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| Now I’m coming
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| Coming home to you
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| Now I’m coming home to you
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| Now I’m coming home to you |