| When I was born I was running
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| As my feet hit the ground
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| Before I could talk I was humming
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| An old railroad sound
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| Things didn’t get much better
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| When by the age of five
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| They found me walking into Clarksdale
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| Trying to keep my friends alive
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| No time for celebration
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| Now there’s no known cure
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| Seeing I was born and raised
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| On the wrong killing floor
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| And my loved ones gathered round
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| To see the experiment at work
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| I was misplaced out of time
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| Never rich — never worse
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| Oh momma, please don’t cry for me Tears to the river — tears to be free
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| And I see twelve white horses walking in line
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| Moving east across the metal bridge
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| On highway forty-nine
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| And standing in the shadows of a burnt out motel
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| The King of Commerce Mississippia waited with his hound from hell
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| A shiny neon riverboat taking income from the poor
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| It’s floating by the levee in an artifical pool
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| There’s a six-mile tailback back out of junction 304
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| A stranger at the crossroads
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| I believe I’d seen his face before
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| Oh, don’t cry for me Tears fill the river — tears to be free
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| I’m sad to be leaving
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| The sun’s gone down and I’ve really got to go now
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| Sad to be leaving
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| The sun’s gone down — I’ve really got to go now
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| Yeah, really got to go now
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| I’ve got to go — I’ve got to move
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| Sad to be leaving
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| Sun’s gone down — I’ve really got to go now
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| Sad to be leaving
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| The sun’s gone down and I’ve really got to go now
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| Yeah, really got to go now |