| The hoods are up on Pine Street
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| Rear ends lifted too
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| The great-grandsons of General Robert E. Lee
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| Are makin' love with a little help from STP
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| Their women on the porches, comparin' alibis
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| Greasy eggs and bacon
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| Bumper stickers aimed to start a fight
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| Full gun racks, Confederate caps
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| If you want some, shine well
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| You can always find some more
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| But what I remember most is the color of Suzy’s door
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| And Suzy says she’s up there
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| Cutting carrots still
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| And Suzy says she’s missing me
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| So I’m missing Oregon Hill
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| A river to the south to wash away all sins
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| A college to the east of us to learn where sin begins
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| A graveyard to the west of it all
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| Which I may soon be lyin' in
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| 'Cause to the north there is a prison
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| Which I’ve come to call my home
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| But come Monday mornin', no country song
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| Will sing me home again
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| And Suzy says she’s up there
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| Cutting carrots still
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| Suzy says she’s missing me
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| So I’m missing Oregon Hill
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| Sunday mornin', 8 A.M.
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| Sirens fill the air
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| Sounds like someone made the river
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| Sounds like someone being born again
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| Me, I’m just lyin' here in Suzy’s bed
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| Baptists celebratin' with praises to the Lord
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| Rednecks doin' it with gin
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| Me and Suzy, we’re just celebrating
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| The joys of sleepin' in
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| Because tomorrow I’ll be home again
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| But Suzy says she’ll wait there
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| Cutting carrots by the window sill
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| Suzy says, «Always think of me
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| When you think of Oregon Hill» |