| She kept the twenties folded up
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| Behind her favorite picture of her and her daddy and her brother
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| Grand Canyon nineteen-something-or-other, and the sun was going down
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| And they were standing with their backs to the world
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| Tuesday afternoons she’d pick me up from school
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| Big yellow Buick, and we’d do all the things moms and daughters do
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| Couple of dresses, brand new pair of shoes
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| She could never say no to her baby girl
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| We’d empty the cart one piece at a time
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| While the milk and the bread and the corn made the register chime
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| She’d stand there so confident and sunny
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| While I prayed we had enough grocery money
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| There was pan steak and peas at least once a week
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| She always grabbed a couple cans of Campbell’s soup for me
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| Chef Boyardee in a box and soda for the scotch
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| To keep our daddy’s disposition good
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| He worried more than a daddy should
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| Emptied the cart one piece at a time
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| While the milk and the bread and the corn made the register chime
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| She’d stand there so confident and sunny
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| While I prayed we had enough grocery money
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| And I never thought twice
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| About her sacrifice
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| One afternoon a week she’d spend her afternoon on me
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| And I got anything I wanted
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| And we’d hide it in my closet
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| We’d empty the cart one piece at a time
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| While that milk and the bread and corn made the register chime
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| And she’d stand there so confident and sunny
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| And she’d look down and smile, and call me honey
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| While I prayed we had enough grocery money |