| The south coast of Texas is a thin slice of life
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| It’s salty and hard it it stern as a knife
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| Where the wind is for blwon’up hurricanes for showin'
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| The snakes how to swim and the trees how to lean
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| The shrimpers and their ladies are out in the beer joints
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| Drinkin’em down for they sail with the dawn
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| They’re bound for the Mexican Bay of Campche
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| And the deck hands are singin’adios Jole Blon
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| There’s snowbirds in search of that sunshine and night life
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| And fond of greasin’palms down the beach as they’re goin'
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| This livin’on the edge of the waters of the world
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| Demands the dignity of whooping cranes and
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| The likes of Gilbert Roland
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| In the cars of my youth how I tore thru those sand dunes
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| Cut up my tires on them oyster shell roads
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| But nothin’is forever say the old men in the shipyards
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| Turnin’trees into shrimp oats Hell I guess they ought to know |