| We stood in a long line waiting for the door to be unlocked
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| Out in the cold wind, 'round the razor wire fenced-in cellblock
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| Young mama’s with babies, sisters and other kinds of kin
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| At Tallulah State Prison on Thanksgiving Day, we’re waiting to get in
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| You gotta get here early, it don’t matter how many miles you drove
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| They make you wait for hours, jailers always move slow
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| They run names, check numbers, gravel faced guards they don’t smile
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| Grammy and me in line, silently waiting single file
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| Thanksgiving at the prison, surrounded by families
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| Road weary pilgrims who show up faithfully
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| Sometimes love ain’t easy, sometimes love ain’t free
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| My grammy looks so old now, her hair is soft and white like the snow
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| Her hands tremble when they frisk her from her head to her toes
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| They make her take her winter coat off then they frisk her again
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| When they’re done she wipes their touch off her dress, stands tall and heads in
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| Thanksgiving at the prison, surrounded by families
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| Road weary pilgrims who show up faithfully
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| Even though it ain’t easy, even though it ain’t free
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| Sometimes love ain’t easy, I guess love ain’t free |