| Twenty dollars out of mama’s purse
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| Bought us a tank of gas
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| And some Redman Tobacco
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| When we were just teenage kids.
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| Me and my old buddy Leroy
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| We’d go drivin’around
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| If there was trouble to be found
|
| Oh, man we dang sure did.
|
| Cuttin’donuts in the fields
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| So old man Smith would call the cops
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| He’d come runnin’out with his shotgun
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| 'Cause we were runnin’down his crops
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| And I reckon he’s still wonderin'
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| Who that was, but that was us.
|
| Now some of these local boys moved on But we never changed a bit
|
| Never had a lick of sense
|
| Least that’s what some folks said.
|
| Then finally we turned old enough
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| To buy our own beer
|
| Don’t remember much about that year
|
| Juct lucky we ain’t dead.
|
| Somebody said they saw some boys
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| With a truck looked just like mine
|
| Tryin’to pull down that old water tank
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| That sits out on the county line.
|
| And people wonder why it leans
|
| The way it does, that was us.
|
| --- Instrumental ---
|
| Seems like small towns never change
|
| But things get tough when times get hard
|
| They said when he got sick
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| Old man Smith would a lost that farm.
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| 'Cause he was gettin’way behind
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| On all his bills
|
| But somebody brought his crops in From the field.
|
| Yeah, and folks around here
|
| Still wonder who that was.
|
| That was us.
|
| That was us.
|
| That was us.
|
| That was us.
|
| That was us… |