| Lily pulled a horseshoe from a pile of junk
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| Said «I'm gonna keep this good luck
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| Piece of iron inside my truck»
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| The boy just whispered «OK»
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| And grabbed his old black dog
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| As we piled on in and cut out through
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| That late November fog
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| Dull as a ploughshare rusting in the yard
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| Old Cotton grinned and waved goodbye
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| While the auctioneers all played cards
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| On every other Sunday
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| I’d walk down to Moe’s and back
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| Eat a t-bone steak, watch a picture show,
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| For a dollar and a half
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| Come on little sister get up offa my knee
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| Gonna settle down someday
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| In a town called Jubilee
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| Come on brother Jake
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| Break on out and a break free
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| Gonna set things right and set up a house
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| In a town called Jubilee
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| That fog came out of nowhere
|
| Short of what I can tell
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| Hand to hand we passed that bucket
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| Up and down from the well
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| «Gone to California»
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| Used to be what folks would say
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| Down around these parts if it was me
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| I’d have hoped that west bound stage
|
| One less hallelujah
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| A little less sympathy
|
| Lily and Jake, the old black dog
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| A pinewood box, a rocking horse
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| All gone to Jubilee |