| There’s a little dive on a dead-end road
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| Called the Cross-Eyed Cricket Watering' Hole
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| Where you can hear the sound of a steel guitar
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| An' get loud an' rowdy on PBR
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| But at the top of every hour, man, you can hear a pin drop
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| As ol' Jack drops a quarter an' plays Merle on that jukebox, an' we stop
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| An' tip our hats
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| An' raise our glasses of cold, cold beer
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| They say country’s fading
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| But we still wavin' that flag around here
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| An' when it’s time to go, you know you’re welcome back
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| Where the people pledge allegiance to the Hag
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| When the weekend comes an' the weather’s clear
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| There’s a high spot fifteen miles from here
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| Where you can always find a few dusty trucks
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| With the windows down an' the radio up
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| We sit there poppin' tops, shootin' bull an' singin' songs
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| But you can bet your boots that when Haggard comes on
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| We tip our hats
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| And raise our glasses of cold, cold beer
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| They say country’s fading
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| But we still wavin' that flag around here
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| And when it’s time to go, you know you’re welcome back
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| Where the people pledge allegiance to the Hag
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| One of these days when my time has come
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| You can take me back to where I’m from
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| Put me on a westbound train
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| An' ship me off in the pouring' rain
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| Don’t cry for me when I’m gone
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| Just put a quarter in the jukebox an' sing me back home
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| An' tip our hats
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| An' raise our glasses of cold, cold beer
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| They say country’s fading'
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| But just keep waving' that flag around here
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| An' I know, it’ll keep on coming' back
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| Long as people pledge allegiance
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| Where folks still pledge allegiance
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| I pledge allegiance to the Hag |