| Now it was just like Frankie and Johnny
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| And it was just like Stagger Lee
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| Dolly Summers was a simple girl
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| From a mid-west family
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| With a stucco home and her own Mustang
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| And a charge account at Sears
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| She had everything that a girl could want
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| To live happy for the rest of her years
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| But the thing that she wanted most of all
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| Was the thing that she had lost
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| To the arms of a downtown black jack hustler
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| By the name of Candyfloss
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| They’d skipped town on a late night train
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| Heading for the West
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| Dolly slipped behind the wheel of her Mustang
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| With a piece between her breast
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| She put a pistol in her shoulder holster
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| She took her car up from Santa Fe Yesterday morning she was washing dishes
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| Now she’s hunting down a runaway
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| Don’t judge a man by a misdemeanor
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| You may be sorry when his light goes out
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| Don’t put that pistol in your shoulder holster
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| You can never, never tell if the Law’s about
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| If it seemed just like a movie
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| Or a night of bad TV
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| They should have had a picture of Dolly’s face
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| As she drove across country
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| With daggers drawn for her fallen man
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| And venom in her heart
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| It was nearly dawn when she caught them up Making out in a picnic park
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| But the thing that shook her rigid
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| As she fumbled for her gun
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| Was the state of the man that she’d married once
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| And thought of as the only one
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| And as she looked back on the chances
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| That she’d passed up at home
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| Well she quietly dumped her pistol in a ditch
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| And she headed home alone |