| You know all them sweaty boys hanging out at the copper mines
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| You watched them growing up the bridge on the river shoals off ga 9
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| They used to lay their sweet bodies out just waiting on a fishing line
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| Just like your daddy did when he was a kid in the wilds of Florida
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| But your daddy’s gone and those boys jacked up got rough moved on
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| You find your own self hiding in the stories of drunken men
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| With their kids in tow from the picture show riding over mountain bends
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| And you can feel their fingers crossing when the black ice of winter comes
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| But they’ll be fishtailing in the dark from the time that they are born
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| Hey, you know your daddy’s gone, those boys you loved got rough with the girls
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| and moved on
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| Still you gotta find some goodness somewhere somehow, so hug the corners take
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| the straights
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| from the cradle to the grave we all give what we got
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| In the winter you’ll go south and fall asleep in the late day sun
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| Holding still to catch the last of the warmth before the storm clouds roll on in
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| At night you watch the kids riding in their hoodies in the rain
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| Heading up to St. Johns causeway bridge fishtailing all the way
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| Hey, you know your daddy’s gone, those boys you loved got rough with the girls
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| and moved on
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| Still you gotta find some goodness somewhere somehow, so hug the corners take
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| the straights
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| from the cradle to the grave we all give what we got
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| From the craole to the grave we all give what we got
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| Yeah we all give what we got |