| For twenty-odd years, I have strummed on guitars
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| 5,000 lost flat picks, four fingertip scars
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| I must’ve broken a million G strings
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| Picking and strumming, and playing these things
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| Banging and tuning, and playing these things
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| And it’s been sixteen years now that I’ve written songs
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| Over a hundred and still growing strong
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| About drinking and hockey and flying above
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| Again and again, about unhappy love
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| Over and over, unhappy love
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| And it’s music for money, but I do it for fun
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| Oh, I know how to do it; |
| it’s easily done
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| To stand on a stage doesn’t make me afraid
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| I’m comfortable up there; |
| it’s gotten me laid
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| It always amazes me when I get paid
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| So here I am, doing all that I can do
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| You’re paying; |
| I’m playing; |
| I’m grateful to you
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| Indoors and outdoors, at home and abroad
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| I sing these songs, and you people applaud
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| You haven’t changed much; |
| you still applaud |