| INSTRUMENTAL INTRO
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| Mama was his Wildwood Flower, my Daddy used to say
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| And to prove to her he loved her, he’d play it every day
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| Mom would look at him and smile, she’d say, «God bless my man
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| I don’t regret one single time that I gave him my hand.»
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| The Wildwood Flower
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| (The Wildwood Flower)
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| Was his favorite song
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| And when he played for Mama
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| Her house became a home
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| INSTRUMENTAL BREAK
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| Mom took sick and passed away, this was his darkest hour
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| He came home that very day and he played the Wildwood Flower
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| Time went by and he grew old, he’d sit and play for hours
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| Mem’ries of Mom on his old guitar, he’d play the Wildwood Flower
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| INSTRUMENTAL BREAK
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| One night, as I walked by his house, I though I heard his song
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| I heard Mama talkin', but Mom had long been gone
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| I looked through the window and saw God’s mighty power
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| There sat Mom with Daddy, he was playin' the Wildwood Flower
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| INSTRUMENTAL BREAK
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| As he grew old, he could play no more, and his mind began to fail
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| We’d often find him in the field, he seemed so old and frail
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| One day, we couldn’t find him, and after many days
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| Found him lyin' with the wildwood flowers, up on Mama’s grave
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| INSTRUMENTAL OUTRO |