| We travelled Kansas and Missouri spreading the good news
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| A preachers family in our pressed clothes and worn out polished shoes
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| Momma fixed us soup beans and served them up by candlelight
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| She tucked us in at night
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| Oh she worried through many a sleepless night
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| Dad and me would stop by the store when the day was done
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| Standin at the counter he said «I forgot to get the peaches, son.»
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| «What kind should I get?» |
| I said to him there where he stood in line
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| And he answered just like I knew he would «Go and get the cheapest kind»
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| But the love, the love, the love
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| It was not the cheapest kind
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| It was rich as, rich as, rich as, rich as, rich as
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| Any you could ever find
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| I see the ghost of my grandfather from time to time
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| In some big city amongst the people all dressed so fine
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| He usually has a paper bag clutched real tight
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| His work clothes are dirty
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| He don’t look at nobody in the eye
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| Oh he was little, he was wirey, and he was lots of fun
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| He was rocky as Ozark dirt that he come from
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| And they was raisin seven children on a little farm
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| In not the best of times
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| The few things that they got from the store
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| Was always just the cheapest kind
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| Fancy houses with wealthy poeple I don’t understand
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| I always wish I could live holdin on to my grandpa’s hand
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| So he could lead me down that gravel road somewhere
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| To that little house where there’s just enough supper
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| For whosever there
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| My people’s hands and faces they are so dear to me
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| All I have to do is close my eyes and I see 'em all so near to me
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| I have to cry I have to laugh
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| When I think of all the things that have drawn those lines
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| So many years of makin do with the cheapest kind |