| Well you live, in a tiny bungalow
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| With a Dutch wooden door, and a pot belly stove
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| You wear marlboro boots and buckskin jackets
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| Sewn by the love of your many ladies' hands
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| You’ve been called a hero
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| You’ve been called to bed
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| You’ve been called be-damned
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| But we’ll shake your hand
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| You’re like a paper mountain man
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| You live ten telephone poles and two trees up a dirt road
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| Outside the city line
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| You like delicate ladies with real fine skin
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| You’ll touch 'em, but you’ll never love
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| That’s the way you’ve always been
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| You’ve been called a hero
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| You’ve been called to bed
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| You’ve been called be-damned
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| But we’ll shake your hand
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| You’re like a paper mountain man
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| Heard tell you’re half a raccoon and half horse trader
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| Taking time to key your life biased high
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| You’re wearing curly hair, teasing round your ears
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| With a heavy booted walk tapping low funk blues
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| You’ve been called a hero
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| You’ve been called to bed
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| You’ve been called be-damned
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| But we’ll shake your hand
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| You’re like a paper mountain man… |