| Mr. Collin he’s a hauling hay but his barn is falling
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| He got a for sale sign on a rusty sixty-one Ford
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| The train used to stop down here at the station
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| But that old whistle
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| It don’t blow round here no more
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| And time eases on
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| And now the good old days are gone
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| Now old Mack, he was an outlaw, ain’t no denying
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| But Ms Wanita kept him coming home
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| Eleven kids, seven decades later
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| Like an old oak tree, he stands alone
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| She’s laid beneath the stone
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| And now his good old days are gone
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| Father time, he’s a heartless hunter
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| He’ll sneak up from behind
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| Steal away your youth and age your mind
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| Take away all the good things
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| And a few good folks left around
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| Til everything you love is in the cold ground
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| Cause old butch, he was a north Louisiana legend
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| A country-preneur, the first and the last of his kind
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| Til behind the counter at the bait shop one cold morning
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| Shots were fired and a small town cried
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| So let the Corny Queen, sail on
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| Because the good old days are gone
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| So let the Corny Queen, sail on
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| Because the good old days are gone |