| In the Deep South when I was growing up
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| Looking back on the sweetness, looking back on the rough
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| The sun going down, crickets at night
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| Lawnmower sounds and mosquito bites
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| Swattin' at a fly, hearing the neighbors talk
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| So hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk
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| Outside playing barefoot in the street
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| Tar would be sticking to the bottom of my feet
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| Running and chasing after the ice cream wagon
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| «Mama, can I have a quarter so that I can get me one?»
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| On a good day Mama’d make us sweet coffee milk
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| On bad days she cussed when something got spilled
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| And Daddy taught the Bible, Lake Charles to Monroe
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| Shreveport to Slidell, Baton Rouge to Thibodaux
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| He chewed tobacco and spit out in a can
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| All the while hollering, «Don't let the screen door slam»
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| Her daddy’s kind didn’t spare the rod
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| Blinded by the fear and the wrath of the Lord
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| He’d call her a sinner, say, «you're going to hell»
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| Now finish your dinner and tell 'em you fell
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| And when the blood came, her mama told her
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| She was unclean and her mama would scold her
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| Mama always felt Christian guilt
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| And then put to bed under a homemade quilt
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| God knows it rains in Louisiana
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| But not enough to wash away the sins of the father
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| And God knows Mama loved her daughter
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| And they say that blood is thicker than water
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| Down in the Deep South when I was growing up
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| Looking back on the sweetness, looking back on the rough |