| Well, thank you for the drink my friend, that’s alright with me
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| Let’s drink to the workingman, wherever he might be
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| Remember what he stood up for and the struggles he went through
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| Then let us take a little stroll down Cardboard Avenue
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| Down on the street where I live, when evening comes around
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| No T.V. or radio, never hear a lonesome sound
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| Except some poor Joe cryin', Lord, can I make it up to you?
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| But he never gets an answer down on Cardboard Avenue
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| Well here’s my little heartbreak hotel, now don’t you be let down
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| When the ghost of Hobo Bill comes a-shufflin' around
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| He might pause by your side, saying, Buddy, can you spare a dime or two?
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| Then he’ll just drift off into the night on Cardboard Avenue
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| Now, I hear the whistle blowing now, must be the Red Ball train
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| We’ll see you in the North Country, when the springtime comes again
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| Just ask any workingman, wherever you might be
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| The whereabouts of Reverend Tom, Lefty Mouse, and Buddy
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| And if he asks you, Were you in the fight, did you join the strike of 1932?
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| Just tell him that you knew us down on Cardboard Avenue |