| Early, early in the game
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| I taught myself to sing and play
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| And use a little trickery
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| On kids who never favored me
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| Those were years of crinoline slips
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| And cotton skirts and swinging hips
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| And dangerously painted lips
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| And stars of stage and screen
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| Pedal pushers, ankle socks
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| Padded bras and campus jocks
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| Who hid their vernal equinox
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| In pairs of faded jeans
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| And slept at home resentfully
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| Coveting their dreams
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| And I look around and I wonder
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| How the years and I survived
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| I had a mother who sang to me
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| An honest lullaby
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| Yellow, brown and black and white
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| Our Father, bless us all tonight
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| I bowed my head at the football games
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| And closed the prayer in Jesus name
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| Lusted after football heroes
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| Tough Pachuco, little Neroes
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| Forfeiting my A’s for zeroes
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| Futures unforeseen
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| Spending all my energy
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| In keeping my virginity
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| And living in a fantasy
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| In love with Jimmy Dean
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| If you will be my king, Jimmy, Jimmy
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| I will be your queen
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| I look around and I wonder
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| How the years and I survived
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| I had a mother who sang to me
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| An honest lullaby
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| Now look at you, you must be growing
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| A quarter of an inch a day
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| You’ve already lived near half the years
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| You’ll be when you go away
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| With your teddy bears and alligators
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| Enterprise communicators
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| All the tiny aviators head into the sky
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| And while the others play with you
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| I hope to find a way with you
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| And sometimes spend a day with you
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| I’ll catch you as you fly
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| Or if I’m worth a mother’s salt
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| I’ll wave as you go by
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| And if you look around and you wonder
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| How the years and you’ll survive
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| Honey, you’ve got a mother who sings to you
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| Dances on the strings for you
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| Opens her heart and brings to you
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| An honest lullaby |