| Mississippi moonshine’s got me doubled over laughing in pain
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| back at the Chevron the chicken wings made you feel just the same
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| That bucket of bayou that licked you like a 5 pound block of salt
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| I through it to the puppy that was yappin’on the hot asphalt
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| The wisest word I ever heard was written on that bathroom wall
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| in the mississippi river greasy spoon in southern Arkansas
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| skimming 'cross the scrawl of the underground elite retorts
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| I see a beacon to the traveler paraphrased sweet and short
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| A word to the wise
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| a breath to the philosopher
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| a hand to the devil
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| a gift to the masses
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| whatever you do don? |
| t whatever you do don? |
| t whatever you do don’t take my advice
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| Mister blister burning on the fumes of a day hard earned
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| a bullet through the blue highways 'till the whole damn world is turned
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| we’re driving and we’re driving until driving it don’t feel real
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| but it’s so easy all you do is get some sleep behind the wheel
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| Take a second to reflect on a peculiarity
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| every stop we’ve made has shared a certain similarity
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| there are juices and there’s candies and there’s sodas of all brand names
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| but the message on the walls from town to town has been the same
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| Permanent marker with a fat tip
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| scratch off the paint with a dime
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| grease up the mirror with some lipstick
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| a revolution is not a crime
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| Finally before my eyes there it was for me to see
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| at a truck stop in the lonely hills of eastern Tennessee
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| I’d tell you how I felt if I could but I just can’t
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| When I happened on that bathroom with a fresh coat of paint |