| Johnny and I, in 2009
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| Lived at his folk’s house for free
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| On the outskirts of town, 12 miles down
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| A house on Lincoln Creek
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| We called it the farm
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| From the broken down barn
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| Took wood and made fires in the stove
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| We got drunk, we got high
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| Drank spiced rum and wine
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| And lived like a couple of kids
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| In the pitch dark night
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| When I’d turn off the lights
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| Looked up at the phosphorescent starts
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| The future was bright as the lights in the sky
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| And just as far out of reach
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| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
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| A tab and a couple of twenties
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| Is all they need
|
| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
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| Thank god it ain’t me
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| Johnny got married
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| To his ex-girlfriend's sister
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| And they popped out a couple of kids
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| I guess he found Jesus
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| You might not believe this
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| But sometimes I wish that I did
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| But I hit the road
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| For a decade of shows
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| Sleeping on the floors and beds
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| Dozens of strangers, none born in a manger
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| But holy none the less
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| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
|
| A tab and a couple of twenties
|
| Is all they need
|
| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
|
| Thank god it ain’t me
|
| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
|
| A tab and a couple of twenties
|
| Is all they need
|
| Somewhere, someone is singing for free
|
| Thank god it ain’t me |