| The sidewalks are blazing hot
|
| Like white-fire from a pistol shot
|
| The sun at its zenith is proudly displayed
|
| The old man across the street
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| Swears he can’t stand the heat
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| He’d pay a king’s ransom for one patch of shade
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| There’s cracks in the creek bed deep
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| Dry dirt where the craw dead sleep
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| And dust in the birdbath is out of control
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| The treefrogs have ceased to sing
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| The fireflies have lost their zing
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| And life on the rice farm is taking a toll
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| Brazos river’s less than three feet deep
|
| Watermelon farmer’s wife can’t sleep
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| Dust dripping from a windmill spout
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| Everybody wants to end this drought
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| The firetrucks and sirens scream
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| Like scenes from an old bad dream
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| The drought seeps into your bones
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| Till your last sip of water’s gone
|
| And a rise from the ashes falls on your head
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| The jukebox plays Jimmy Reed
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| Dry-winds blow tumbleweed
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| The blues and the night have a mind of their own
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| With beer joints to slake our thirst
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| We wait for the great cloud-burst
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| Pray let there be raindrops the size of a stone
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| Witch doctor beat the tom-tom loud
|
| Helicopter pilot seed the clouds
|
| Baptist preacher get your prayer book out
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| Somebody’s got to end this drought
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| Cattle rancher watch the skies all day
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| Sun is shining but you can’t make hay
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| The only thing you wanna talk about
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| Is how on earth we’re gonna end this drought
|
| No doubt
|
| The sidewalks are blazing hot
|
| Like white-fire from a pistol shot
|
| The sun at its zenith is proudly displayed |