| Readin' old westerns with them white and black Stetsons
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| They made it real simple to tell bad from good
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| It seems people these days are wearin' all kinds of grey
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| I miss them old dusters 'cause I knew where I stood
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| You can’t count any more on Louis L’Amour
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| To paint you the lay of the land
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| And tell you who’s on your side, stride for stride
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| And who’s gonna ride for the brand
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| But don’t get me wrong there was a lot goin' on
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| Back in them wild lawless days
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| Not every gunfight was won by the good guys
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| And one person’s outlaw was another man’s saint
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| But still
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| You can’t count any more on Louis L’Amour
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| To show you the lay of the land
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| And tell you who’s on your side, stride for stride
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| And who’s gonna ride for the brand
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| That old Russell hangs in a busted up frame
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| In a tire shop off the highway at
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| A young mother cries as she searches the eyes
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| Of a son who’s known nothin' but desperate pain
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| A young mother cries as she searches the skies
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| For a time before meth hit our great western range |