| Now, listen while I tell you about a place I know
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| Down in Tennessee where the tall corn grows
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| Hidden from the world in a bunch of pines
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| Where the moon’s a little bashful and it seldom shines
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| Civilized people live there all right
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| But they all go native on Saturday Night
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| Oh, well the music is a fiddle and a cracked guitar
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| They get their kicks from an old fruit jar
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| They do the boogie to an old square dance
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| The woods are full of couples looking for romance
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| Somebody takes a brogan and knocks out the light
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| Yes, they all go native on Saturday night
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| When they really get together there’s a lot of fun
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| They all know the other fellow packs a gun
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| Everybody does his best to act just right
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| Cause there’s gonna be funeral if you start a fight
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| They struggle and they shuffle till broad daylight
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| Yes, they all go native on Saturday night
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| Well, now you’ve heard my story about a place I know
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| Down in Tennessee where the tall corn grows
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| Hidden from the world in a bunch of pines
|
| Where the moon’s a little bashful and it seldom shines
|
| Civilized people live there all right
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| But they all go native on Saturday Night |