| I rode across a valley range
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| I hadn’t seen for years
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| The trail was all so spoilt and strange
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| It nearly fetched the tears
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| I had to let ten fences down
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| The fussy lanes ran wrong
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| And each new line would make me frown
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| And hum this mournin' song
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| Mhm, hear 'em stretchin' of the wire!
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| The urban brand is on the land
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| I reckon I’ll retire
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| While progress toots her greedy horn
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| And makes her motor buzz
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| I thanks the Lord I wasn’t born
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| No later than I was
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| 'Twas good to live when all the sod
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| Without no fence or fuss
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| Belonged in partnership with God
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| Mother Nature and to us
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| Where skyline bounds from east to west
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| And room to go and come
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| I loved my fellow man the best
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| When he was scattered some
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| Mhm, closer and closer crawls the wire
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| There’s hardly place to step away
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| And call a man a liar
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| Their house has locks on every door
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| Their land is in a crate
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| These ain’t the plains of God no more
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| They’re only real estate
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| When my old soul hunts range and rest
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| Beyond the last divide
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| Just plant me in some stretch of West |
| Sunny, lone and wide
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| Let cattle rub the tombstone round
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| And coyotes mourn their kin
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| Let horses come and paw the moun'
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| But don’t you fence it in!
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| Mhm, far and farther flings the wire
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| To crowd and pinch another inch
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| It’s all their heart’s desire
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| The world is overstocked with men
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| And some will see the day
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| When each must keep his little pen
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| But I’ll be far away
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| While progress toots her greedy horn
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| And makes her motor buzz
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| I thanks the Lord I wasn’t born
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| No later than I was |