| This old town should’ve burned down in 1929
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| That’s when we stood in line
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| Waiting for our soup
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| Swallowing our pride
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| This old town should’ve burned down in 1931
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| When the rain refused to come
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| Air filled up our bellies
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| Dust filled up our lungs
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| And we thought our time had come
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| This old town was built by hand
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| In the dust bowl of the motherland
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| There must be rock beneath the sand
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| Oh, I’ll be damned
|
| This town still stands
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| This old town should’ve burned down in 1944
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| When the last men went to war
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| They came back different
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| If they came back at all
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| And this old town should’ve burned down in 1956
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| That’s when the twister hit
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| And all our hopes were buried
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| Beneath the boards and bricks
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| And we almost called it quits
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| But this old town was built by hand
|
| In the dust bowl of the motherland
|
| There must be rock beneath this sand
|
| I’ll be damned
|
| This town still stands
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| Bridge:
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| Somewhere in the distance
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| The city lights do shine
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| The sidewalks gleam with neon dreams
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| That call from time to time
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| When my children’s children
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| Ask me why I didn’t go
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| I say the heart of any town
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| Is the people that you’ve known
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| And they’ll always call you home
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| And this old town was built by hand
|
| In the dust bowl of the motherland
|
| There must be rock beneath the sand
|
| I’ll be damned
|
| This town still stands |