| Well, I was born a coal miner’s daughter
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| In a cabin on a hill in Butcher Holler
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| We were poor
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| But we had love
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| That’s the one thing that Daddy made sure of
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| He shoveled coal to make a poor man’s dollar
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| My daddy worked all night in the Vanleer coal mine
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| All day long in the field a-hoin' corn
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| Mommy rocked the babies at night
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| And read the Bible by the coal oil light
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| And everything would start all over come break of morn'
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| Daddy loved and raised eight kids on a miner’s pay
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| Mommy scrubbed our clothes on a washboard ever' day
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| Why I’ve seen her fingers bleed
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| To complain there was no need
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| She’d smile in Mommy’s understanding way
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| In the summertime
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| We didn’t have shoes to wear
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| But in the wintertime
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| We’d all get a brand new pair from a mail order catalog
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| Money made from selling a hog
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| Daddy always managed to get the money somewhere
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| Yeah, I’m proud to be a coal miner’s daughter
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| I remember well, the well where I drew water
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| The work we done was hard
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| At night we’d sleep 'cause we were tired
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| I never thought of ever leaving Butcher Holler
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| Well, a lot of things have changed since way back then
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| And it’s so good to be back home again
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| Not much left but the floor
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| Nothing lives here anymore
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| Except the memories of a coal miner’s daughter |