| Mary Martin was a schoolgirl
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| Just seventeen or so
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| When she married Billy Archer
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| About fourteen years ago
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| Not even out of high school
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| Folks said it wouldn’t last
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| But when you grow up in the country
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| You grow up mighty fast
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| They married in a hurry
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| In March before school was out
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| Folks said that she was pregnant
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| «Just wait and you’ll find out.»
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| It came about that winter
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| One gray November morn
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| The first of many more to come
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| A baby boy was born
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| And cattle is their game
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| And Archer is the name
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| They give to the acres that they own
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| If the Brazos don’t run dry
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| And the newborn calves don’t die
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| Another year from Mary will have flown
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| Another year from Mary will have flown
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| Now Billy kept what cattle
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| His father could afford
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| Bouncing across the cactus
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| In a 1950 Ford
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| The cows were sick and skinny
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| And the weed was all that grew
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| But Billy kept the place alive
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| The only thing he knew
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| And Mary cooked the supper
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| And Mary scrubbed the clothes
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| And Mary busted horses
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| And blew the baby’s nose
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| And Mary and a shotgun
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| Kept the rattlesnakes away
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| How she kept on smiling
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| No one could ever say
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| Now the drought of '57
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| Was a curse upon the land
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| No one in Bosque county
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| Could give Bill a helping hand
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| The ground was cracked and broken
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| And the truck was out of gas
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| And cows can’t feed on prickly pear
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| Instead of growing grass
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| Well the weather got the water
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| And a snake bite took a child
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| And a fire in the old barn
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| Took the hay that Bill had piled
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| The mortgage got the money
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| And the screw worm got the cows
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| The years have come for Mary
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| She’s waiting for them now |