| Stopped by that house on Nesbitt Lake
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| He sittin' in his easy chair
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| Watchin' the Sunday evenin' race
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| Tells me my grandma’s in the other room
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| Guess he forgot we laid her down
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| It’ll be a year come June
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| Then he mumbles about Vietnam
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| He don’t know who the hell I am
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| But the drivers, he tells me who they are
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| He still knows the numbers on the cars
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| Try to get him out like we used to
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| Now I load the truck and I drive the boat
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| 'Cause there ain’t much he can do
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| Cast him a line and watched it as it sank
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| Thinkin' how we used to talk for hours
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| Now he just stares at the bank
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| He used to know every stop in this fishin' hole
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| Though he probably thinks that we’re in Mexico
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| But he knows his way around that boat
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| Even in the dark
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| And he still knows the numbers on the cars
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| I know he ain’t all there
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| But I don’t care
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| My mind still full of memories with him
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| And he may not know
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| All the words to the song
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| But he still knows Merle Haggard’s voice when he hears it
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| Stopped by that house on Nesbitt Lake
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| With a couple of tickets
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| To go see the Sunday evenin' race
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| As we watched those cars fly around the track
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| I asked the Lord for just one more time bring my old friend back
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| Then somewhere around lap 23
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| The old man turned and smiled at me
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| For a moment I know he knows where we are
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| 'Cause he still knows the numbers
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| He still knows the numbers
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| He still knows the numbers on the cars |