| I seen the bright lights of Memphis
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| and the Commodore Hotel
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| And underneath a street lamp
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| I met a southern belle
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| She took me to the river
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| It was there she cast her spell
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| And in that Southern moonlight
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| she sang her song so well
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| If you’ll be my Dixie Chicken
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| I’ll be your Tennessee lamb
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| And we can walk together
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| down in Dixie-Land
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| Down in Dixie-Land
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| Well, we made all the hot-spots
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| My money flowed like wine
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| Then that low-down Southern whiskey
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| began to fog my mind
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| And I don’t remember chuch-bells
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| or the house on the edge of twon
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| With the white picket fence and boardwalk
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| or the money I put down
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| But boy, do I remember
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| the strain of her refrain
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| And the nights we spent together
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| And the promise that we made
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| It’s been a year she ran away
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| I guess that guitar player sure could play
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| He was always handy with a song
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| I guess she liked to sing along
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| Cause leter on in the lobby
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| of the Commodore Hotel
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| I chanced to meet a bartender
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| who said he knew her well
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| And as he handed me a drink
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| he began to hum a song
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| And all the boys down at the bar
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| began to sing along |