| She lived on the curve of the road, in an old, tar-paper shack
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| On the south side of the town, on the wrong side of the tracks
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| Sometimes on the way into town we’d say:
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| 'Mama, can we stop and give her a ride?'
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| Sometimes we did, but her hands flew from her side
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| Wild eyed, crazy Mary
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| Down a long dirt road, past the Parson’s place
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| That old blue car we used to race
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| Little country store with a sign tacked to the side
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| Said 'No L-O-I-T-E-R-I-N-G Allowed'
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| Underneath that sign always congregated quite a crowd
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| Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around (3x)
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| One night thunder cracked, mercy backed outside her windowsill
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| Dreamed I was flying high above the trees, over the hills
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| Looked down into the house of Mary
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| Terrible thoughts, newspaper-covered walls, and Mary rising above it all
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| Next morning on the way into town
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| Saw some skid marks and followed them around
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| Over the curve, through the fields, into the house of Mary
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| That what you fear the most, could meet you halfway (2x)
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| Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around (3x) |