| There are some that blindly and happily plow
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| While the tractor screams «Feed me some oil»
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| The scraping of gears and the gnashing of teeth
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| Fall softly on full ahead ears
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| A frown may give away something right
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| A smile can hide crooked affairs
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| The sun on the back rings a work man’s guffaw
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| It’s all in the bag with coins
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| Call me tomorrow, then come over here
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| See if we can figure this out
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| There in an eye winking curiously
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| By the campground, the bedside night stand
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| My leg bones feel weary yet walk on they will
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| Holding for wheels and gravy
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| On a plate full of nothing but shaking my head
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| With a side bowl of nothing to do
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| Could be a time thing, could be a ruse
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| And I will concede to confusion
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| Ideas spin 'round my crazy old head
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| Hard as (and light as) an anvil
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| The liver will wither and wax with the tide
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| Fine, if I can find the answer
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| To a question I’ve never been asked before
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| I hear time and time again |