| The seventh son born to an Arkansas farmer
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| And a hard workin' mother of twelve
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| Who never could find any time or a dollar
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| That she could just spend on herself
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| I remember things now, that my daddy once told me
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| The old man grew wiser with time
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| And a life on the farm, that in a boy’s view was awful
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| Has changed in these same older eyes
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| Oh the weeds have grown high on the farm back in Dixie
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| Where cotton and corn used to grow
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| And the memories run wild in this Arkansas farmboy
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| Who’d give all he owns just to go
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| I recall how grandaddy held me and taught me
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| The melody to «In The Pines»
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| On a five-dollar guitar that led to a fortune
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| I’d trade just to go back in time
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| Oh the weeds have grown high on the farm back in Dixie
|
| Where cotton and corn used to grow
|
| And the memories run wild in this Arkansas farmboy
|
| Who’d give all he owns just to go
|
| Oh the weeds have grown high on the farm back in Dixie
|
| Where cotton and corn used to grow
|
| And the memories run wild in this Arkansas farmboy
|
| Who’d give all he owns just to go |