| I might be a driver on the highway
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| In a big rig gliding through the veins and arteries
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| In a covered wagon piled to the top
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| With livestock, with produce
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| With any kind of crop, I’ll radio:
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| When the scenery has all been seen
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| When the bushes are shaken
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| And the shot is clean
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| There’s beauty to be found
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| On the stripped and dusty ground
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| Drop a seed in the soil
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| And let it grow
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| I might be a numb and foolish man
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| The most foolish thing I think
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| Is that I’m younger than I am
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| And that I’ve got
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| All the time I need to figure things
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| But what’s true today
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| Is not always held forever true, I’ll radio:
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| When the irrigation channels open wide
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| When the cattle farms and thunderstorms
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| Fill the countryside
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| There’s beauty to behold
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| On the cracked and crooked road
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| Drop a seed in the soil
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| Let it grow
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| If I see a hitchhiker on the side
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| We’ll do a triple digit ride in Georgia overdrive
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| And discover that all before has been bereft
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| Maybe two wrongs can make a right, tonight
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| Maybe two rights can make a left, I’ll radio:
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| When the orange blossoms come in bloom
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| When the Earth is covered in her sweet perfume
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| There’s beauty one can find
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| In the most desolate of times
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| Drop a seed in the soil
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| And let it grow |