| Somewhere outside of Gadsden, I saw mama standing in the kitchen
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| And along about Decatur, I started smelling taters and fried chicken
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| And then a Trooper pulled me over, said if I drove any slower
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| He was gonna lock me up for killing time.
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| He said, «Boy have you been drinking?» |
| I said, «No sir, I’s just thinking,
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| Bout Route 5 Box 109.»
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| I was thinking about red wigglers and a stringer full of bream.
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| And the sound a king of spades made, in the spokes of my old Schwinn.
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| I was racin' Richie Coleman, for a Grape Nehi.
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| Yeah lately I’ve been thinking 'bout Route 5 Box 109.
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| I pulled back on the freeway — found a country DJ out of Huntsville.
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| I called him up just hoping, he’d help keep my tired eyes open till I reached
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| Nashville.
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| I talked and he just listened ‘bout the place that I was missin',
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| Then he left, but when he came back on the line.
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| Said son the switchboard’s blinkin', you got half of Alabama thinking,
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| About Route 5, Box 109.
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| Bout mama’s cathead biscuits, Martha White Self-Rising Flour.
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| And getting' rabbit ears positioned, for Glen Campbell’s Good Time Hour.
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| And the sound of daddy snoring, playin' Gentle on My Mind.
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| Yeah lately I’ve been thinking,
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| Bout Route 5, Box 109.
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| And that bed of black eyed susans, in a white washed tractor tire.
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| And a set of threadbare sheets, hanging on a clothesline wire.
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| Mama’s bucket full of Pine Sol, making sure that we had ‘shine.
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| Yeah lately I’ve been thinking,
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| Bout Route 5, Box 109.
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| Yeah lately I’ve been thinking,
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| Bout Route 5, Box 109. |