| Traded 98 dollars and his daddy’s lucky shotgun. |
| Christened the back bumper
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| with a half-empty bottle of beer.
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| In the back of his mind, he could hear all the people cheer.
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| He used to sleep in school, hopin' no one would call his name, as the teacher
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| tried to turn 'em out all the same.
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| Get up every mornin', do the work you’re expected to, and at night,
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| sit and count the crumbs thrown to you. |
| He inherited a job at the local
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| distillery.
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| Where he had all day to sit and think of what would never be.
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| Somewhere along the line, he’d been deceived.
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| Get stoned, read the Bible, an' pretend he still believed. |
| Rollin' down the
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| road with his foot to the floor.
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| Passin' the same farms and fields as every time before.
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| Nothin' haunts a man like knowin' that he’s free to choose.
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| So he lets up off the gas when he thinks of all he’s got to lose.
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| Well, you work all day, live just like a slave. |
| Hustlin' for a seat on the slow
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| shuttle to the grave.
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| There’s a bottom to every bottle and the only thing that ever lasts is riding
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| shotgun in a Chevy and countin' all the cars you pass. |