| There’s a wedding in the chapel
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| And the bride is oh so happy
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| And daddy’s got a shotgun in his hand
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| The groom is sweatin' bullets
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| As the priest steps to the pulpit
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| He’s about to make this boy into a man
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| Sweet Jesus in the garden
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| Can you grant this boy a pardon
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| For it’s true, he really don’t know what he’s done?
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| Better lock the church door tight
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| 'Cause at the slightest crack of light
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| That boy is gonna hit the ground and run
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| He’s gonna run he’s gonna fly
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| He’s out the door and down street
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| And he won’t say goodbye
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| Diapers and diatribes
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| Of her daddy on the rum
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| That boy is gonna hit the ground and run
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| Was it the rubbing or the tugging?
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| Put a bun in Nancy’s oven
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| She’s praying she’s not starting to show
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| But the wedding set for April
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| And she’s known since November
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| She ain’t got hells chance of a ball of snow
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| What in the Lords name was he thinking
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| You can’t blame this all on drinking
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| You can count the family teeth upon one hand
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| By midnight he was muddled
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| For Her gene pool is a puddle
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| That boy might be the daddy of his old man |