| «You ought to go north,» somebody told us
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| «Because the air is filled with gold dust
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| And fortune falls like snow flakes in your hands»
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| Now I don’t recall who said it
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| But we’d lived so long on credit
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| And so we headed out to find our promised land
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| Just poor Appalachian farm folk
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| With nothing more than high hopes
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| We hitched our station wagon to a star
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| But our dreams all fell in on us
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| Because there was no land of promise
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| And it’s a struggle keeping sight of who you are
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| Oh and these northern nights are dreary
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| And my southern heart is weary
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| I wonder how the old folks are back home
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| And I’ll keep leaning on sweet Jesus
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| I know He’ll love and guide and lead us
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| Appalachian memories keep me strong
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| You know I’ve been thinking a whole lot lately
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| About what’s been and what awaits me
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| It takes all I’ve got to give what life demands
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| You’d go insane if you give in to it
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| Life’s a mill and I’ve been through it
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| I’m just thankful I’m creative with my hands
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| Oh and these northern nights are dreary
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| And my southern heart is weary
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| I wonder how the old folks are back home
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| But I’ll keep leaning on sweet Jesus
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| I know He’ll love and guide and lead us
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| Appalachian memories keep me strong
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| I’ll keep looking to the Father
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| Keep our heads above the water
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| Appalachian memories keep me strong |