| I’ve been struggling up here, child, trying to make a living
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| Everybody wants to take, nobody like giving
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| I wish I was in Memphis back home there with my Mama
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| The only clothes I got left that aret rags is my pajamas
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| No brotherly love, no help, no danger
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| Just a great big town full of cold hearted strangers
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| I went hungry in New York and Chicago was no better
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| But today, my dear mother wrote and told me in her letter
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| Son, come back to Memphis and live here with your Mama
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| You can walk down Beale Street, honey, wearing your pajamas
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| You know home folks here, we let do just what you want to
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| And I born you and raised you right here on the corner
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| I’m going to leave here in the morning and walk down to the station
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| I’ve got just enough money to pay my transportation
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| I’m going back to Memphis, back home with my Mama
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| If I have to ride that bus barefooted in pajamas
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| Back home in Memphis, no moaning and groaning
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| I know everything will be all right in the morning |