| I am eight years old
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| Daddy is cutting my hair
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| Aqua Velva on his hands
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| Momma is in the kitchen
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| Got fried green tomatoes
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| Popping in the pan
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| I see a home run, a goal line
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| Holding my friend getting baptized
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| I see her beautiful face under that veil
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| As she is walking down the aisle
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| I can hear the sirens coming
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| Smell the gasoline and smoke
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| I am pinned against this steering wheel
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| Pretty sure my arm is broke
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| I can see the flames and my life
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| Flashing right before my eyes
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| I hope they get to me in time
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| I could see the headlights swerve
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| So I cut the wheel to the right
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| Last thing I saw was that bottle turned up
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| As he crossed that center line
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| I see tiny hands, brown eyes
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| Falling to sleep to that lullaby
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| And you slide over next to me
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| As I turn out the lights
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| Please Lord, I am begging you
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| Do not let me go like this
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| There is so much left that I want to do
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| So much I do not want to miss
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| I can see the flames and my life
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| Flashing right before my eyes
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| I hope they get to me in time
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| Just get to me in time
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| Please get to me in, in time |