| John Oaks is in the neighborhood
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| Protecting all the trees
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| He’s the master of irrigation
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| And he knows what he sees
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| Grape farmers watering everywhere
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| Pipes running where they please
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| John sees his laws are broken
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| Trees drowning where they breathe
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| Now John used to be a mellow man
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| Drinking Chai and smoking weed
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| Ain’t no one in the county
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| Ever see’d whatever he see’d
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| Old John rides in his pickup
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| With rakes and friends in the back
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| Workers he takes with him
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| Then he drives them all back
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| To protect them from the politicians
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| Using them to get ahead
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| Preying on the people
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| Trying to get inside their heads
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| John Oaks is really stand-up
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| He won’t take shit lying down
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| He calls it like he sees it
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| And he puts his money down
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| One day at the demonstration
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| John Oaks was standing up
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| He arrived there at the location
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| In his old pickup truck
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| Took a rake in his hand
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| And his workers by his side
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| Stood there waiting for his turn
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| To speak and turn the tide
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| When he found himself surrounded
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| By police everywhere
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| They tried to take his workers to jail
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| When he grabbed one by his hair
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| Shots rang out and people yelled
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| As the police took control
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| Shot a black man right where he fell
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| With a sniper on the knoll
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| John Oaks saw law and order
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| Was leading him astray
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| Tried to get back in his pickup
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| With his workers to get away
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| That’s when the police moved in
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| And stood there in his way
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| John started up his pickup
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| And that was his last day
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| They said he had a pistol
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| When the old pickup backfired
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| And shot him there behind the wheel
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| And then John Oaks expired
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| The workers grabbed the rakes
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| And that’s all that I can say
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| They went to the cemetery
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| And they stay there to this day
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks
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| John Oaks, John Oaks |