| It was a high summer night along the Ouachita
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| Where in a town named Mammoth Hill
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| A boy was found at Times Picayune said
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| Left headless by the cotton gin mill
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| John Law was slow so the road ran free
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| From the swamps of Louisiana to the hills of Tennessee
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| Then on to the Carolines where it brought hard times
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| To many a family
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| One Otis Ray Stone weren’t nobody’s fool
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| He had the look of a righteous man
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| By day he plied his trade as a teacher
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| While by night getting blood on his hands
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| For thirty five years running high on the loose
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| Two steps ahead of the hangman’s noose
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| Indeed, it seemed Otis Ray Stone would never atone
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| For what he done to many a poor youth
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| Yet the long arm of justice reaches far
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| From the banks of the Ouachita to the highest star
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| Like the hour hand on the wall
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| Like a snail creeping at a dead crawl
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| One fine day in some mysterious way
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| Justice finds us all
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| It finds us all
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| Many years hence on a Death Valley Road
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| While jackin' up his broke-down car
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| Came hell on wheels that left Otis Ray
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| Lying flat on the hot burnin' tar
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| For three long days, not a drop on his tongue
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| Suffering every crawler 'neath the desert sun
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| And old Otis Ray screamed while a crow picked his eyes clean
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| Before his dying was done
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| The long arm of justice reaches far
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| From the banks of the Ouachita to the highest star
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| Like the hour hand on the wall
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| Like a snail creeping at a dead crawl
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| One fine day in some mysterious way
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| Justice finds us all
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| Now, the mortal remains of Otis Ray Stone
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| Were never made manifest
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| 'Cause what a crow had done to both his eyes
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| Ten buzzards did to the rest
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| And all that was, was a blot on the land
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| A heap of grey dust in the shape of a man
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| And the last of Otis Ray was finally swept away
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| By the blowing sand |