| Well Deke’s got a Ford, Hank’s got a Chevy
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| Booger’s got a beat-up Dodge
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| Well they fight like the devil over which one’s better
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| Fridays at the Moose Head Lodge
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| Just a friendly chatter 'cause it really don’t matter
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| When it comes to the model or make
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| Now they’re all the same no matter what name’s
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| Underneath the mud on the ol' tailgate
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| It’s a cowboy cadillac, mud grips, gun rack
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| Factory four-on-the-floor
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| Quarter tank of gas and a spare in the back
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| Lord who could ever ask for more
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| Sitting up high as the world goes by
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| Kicking-up dust in your tracks
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| It’s a matter of pride as a matter of fact to
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| Them folks that ride in them cowboy cadillacs
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| Now Bobby Jean Cordell dreams 'bout wedding bells
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| Ringing in her life one day
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| And a fine young man armed with a wedding band
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| Stealing her heart away
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| But when the «I Do’s» done and the songs are sung
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| And she finally gets to kiss the groom
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| It ain’t a white limousine in her wildest dreams
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| Hauling her away on a honeymoon
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| REPEAT CHORUS
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| Now a lot of my friends are folks like them
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| I feel I know them well enough to say
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| They’ve got a parking space at the pearly gates
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| When they run out of road some day
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| Now I hesitate to speculate
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| About the workings of those heavenly things
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| But when they meet the Lord for the just reward
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| I bet instead of a pair of angel wings
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| They get a cowboy cadillac…
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| REPEAT CHORUS |