| There’s a place in my heart
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| A spirit ne’er be told
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| A little town on the Brazos
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| A little ring made of gold
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| I carry it with me, wherever I go
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| Just to remember the times
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| We learned some from books
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| And a whole lot from livin'
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| And we etched our names on the wood
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| At the Chicken
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| I still hear the sound of spurs on the concrete
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| And that ol' train whistel blowing through the trees
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| So put a penny on ol' Sully
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| And wish me some luck
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| And yell farmers fight
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| When our boys are backed up
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| Throw your arms around each other
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| And sing Hullabaloo
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| 'Cause that’s what we do when we bleed maroon
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| Midnight at Duncan
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| They still light the torches
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| And Reveille still barks at the Cav on their horses
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| I’ve seen 80,000 to the power of 12
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| It doesn’t matter who comes to town
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| We still give them hell
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| And I was there at the stack on November 18th
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| With logs on the ground I fell down on my knees
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| But we would not forget the 12 that we lost
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| So we carved their names right there on the rock
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| So put a penny on ol' Sully
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| And wish me some luck
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| And yell farmers fight
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| When our boys are backed up
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| Throw your arms around each other
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| And sing Hullabaloo
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| 'Cause that’s what we do when we bleed maroon
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| And there late at night if I listen real close
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| The spirit still whispers through the crooked live oaks
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| And I hear my father and his dad before
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| And all those brave Aggies that never came back from war
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| So put a penny on ol' Sully
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| And wish me some luck
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| And yell farmers fight
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| When our boys are backed up
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| Throw your arms around each other
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| And sing Hullabaloo
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| 'Cause that’s what we do when we bleed maroon
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| And say 'here' for me at muster when my time comes too
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| 'cause that’s what we do when we bleed maroon
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| Yeah, that’s what we do when we bleed maroon… |