| Six-O-Five A M on Sunday Mornin'
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| I was supposed to left for Memphis late last night
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| I stopped at one of them old highway places
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| And because of it I sleep in Tyre County Jail tonight
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| I started out the night with good intentions
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| But I ended up gettin' sideways drinkin' wine
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| Well, the last thing I remember we was roarin'
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| Then somethin' hit my head
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| And knocked me from my conscious mind
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| I’m a victim of life’s circumstances
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| I was raised around barrooms, Friday night dances
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| Singin' them old country songs
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| Half the time endin' up someplace I don’t belong
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| I said, jailer, hey, what y’all got me charged with
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| He looked at me and he half-way closed one eye
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| He said you mean to say you don’t remember
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| Cuttin' up some honky with that bone-handled knife
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| I’m a victim of life’s circumstances
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| I was raised around barrooms, Friday night dances
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| Singin' them old country songs
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| Half the time endin' up someplace I don’t belong
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| Yeah, half the time endin' up someplace I don’t belong |