| He wanted a girl who hates dusty roads
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| He wanted a girl who cries porcelain tears
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| He wanted a girl who’d put locks on the door
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| To protect all those gemstones she’s got in her ears
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| But I am a girl who likes dusty roads
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| 'Cos I am a girl who enjoys the outside
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| Yeah, I was that girl who could keep up with him
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| And would follow him anywhere he chose to ride
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| And we would ride
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| Barrel-assin' through the gullies
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| Pitching tent and chewing jerky
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| Showing off our scratches and favorite scars
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| Teachin' me to hold my bourbon
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| Coaxin' me to play my fiddle
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| Makin' up songs and singin' them to the stars
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| Bick: Old Dan was a funny man
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| Vashti: Washed his face in a fryin' pan
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| Bick: Combed his hair with a wagon wheel
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| Vashti: Wheel
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| Bick: Wheel
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| Vashti: Wheel
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| Bick: Wheel
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| Both: And died with a toothpick in his heel
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| We’d laugh ourselves to sleep
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| That’s something I can keep
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| That’s something I can keep in my heart
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| But hearts don’t dress up in fancy new clothes
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| Hearts don’t wear jewels or put locks on the door
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| Hearts are just drums that go beatin' with wantin'
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| And he was the one that my heart wanted for
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| He wanted a girl who hates dusty roads
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| He found him a girl who hates dusty roads
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| Their hearts was meant to fit
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| So I’ll be the fiddle playin'
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| Bourbon drinkin'
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| Girl who learned to live with it |