| Buddy, we got major blues
|
| Another suitcase in your hand
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| I hope you brought your walking shoes
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| 'Cause it’s quite a-ways from what I understand
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| So, rack 'em up, big blonde
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| I think I could have been your man
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| We watch the surfers as they whip on the strand
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| Ah, Daytona sand
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| Long hair, slow eyes, I like your style
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| We both ain’t got a job
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| I haven’t seen my band in a while
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| At least nothing seems to last that long
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| So hit the road, big blonde
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| Take me home to Mississippi
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| It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just hard to make a plan
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| But ah, Daytona sand
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| I’m not mad, for what it’s worth
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| You always take the dare, that’s what I learned
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| I’m getting tired of this earth
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| But they say some stones are better left unturned
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| So what you say, big blonde?
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| Is that another whispered plan?
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| I’ve been around long enough to know you can’t trust a man
|
| But ah, Daytona sand
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| M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I
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| M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I
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| M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I
|
| M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I |