| Stranded inside a madhouse, baby
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| Down in old Pine Grove
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| Been up for days in a drunkard’s haze
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| Just lit up by this stove
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| We got the band in the basement, mama
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| Fire on that mountain steel
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| Don’t need your plow or that old milk cow
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| We’re working on this hill
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| Hang up the wagon wheel
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| Well, here comes Lorraine, she’s a stumbling terror
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| High on her bathtub gin
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| Shows me her kids and tells me how she is
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| How she was back when
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| Said, back when I worked for the county clerk
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| When I wore those finer clothes
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| Now them days are gone and we ain’t got long
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| But I’m still a mountain rose
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| Heart like a young Pete Rose
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| Ain’t coming down, it’s a-roaring now
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| High on your river town
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| Dance on your porch 'round that old cane torch
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| And let your mountain sound
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| Too late to lay it down
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| Well, out on the ridge where they’re rolling, Mama
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| Stray dogs and sirens fight
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| Barred all the doors, nailing 2×4's
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| Brushed off the coal oil light
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| And if I slip, don’t you catch me, baby
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| I’ll find that back road bend
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| I’ll turn around like an old blood hound
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| Cut out my trail again
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| Back to my trailer den
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| Ain’t coming down, it’s a-roaring now
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| High on your river town
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| Dance on your porch 'round that old cane torch
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| And let your mountain sound
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| Too late to lay it down |