| This land should have been om land
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| You took it for your land
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| You got a use for every stream and tree
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| When I go up the highway old trees are dying up that way
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| You pump out the water and sell it back to me
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| You build mansions in the city prisons in Mojave
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| Bet you’re quite a pillar of high society
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| You call it law and order I call it dirty money
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| You lock the young ones down or send 'em off to war
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| No hard feelings no offense taken
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| You’re just a ripple in the shifting sands of time
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| No bad karma no curses on ya
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| You go your way I’ll go mine
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| You remind me of a fellow I heard of in the city
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| Nervous kind of fellow he loved money like you do
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| He derived no satisfaction so he jumped clear out the window
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| They tell me that he bounced a time or two
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| So take in mind the credo of a jackass prospector
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| Take what you need but please leave the rest alone
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| Try and live harmony with old Mother Nature
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| You’ll remain in grace after you have gone
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| Don’t get many callers that little road leads nowhere
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| Been here 40 years seems like yesterday
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| There’s an aId screech owl living in my chimney
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| I don 't build no fires he keeps the mice away
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| No hard feelings na offense taken
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| You’re just a murmur in the whispering sands of time
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| No bad karma na curses on ya
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| You go your way I’ll go mine |