| It was an icy Christmas morning
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| When a boy named Morgan shot his dog that day
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| And he loved that dog, and boy he loved that gun
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| When he found it underneath the tree that day
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| Raised his gun for the first time
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| Took careful aim at the bullseye
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| But shot his dog instead
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| Now Morgan’s dog is dead
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| And a .22's his new best friend
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| Now that Morgan’s dog is dead
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| Now that new .22 is always close at hand
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| Now he’s hunting for a new best friend
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| He can’t get it out, out of his head
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| He said, «I will never miss that shot again»
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| Laid one hand on the Bible
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| The other on survival
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| But Morgan’s dog is dead
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| Ah, he shot his own dog dead
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| And a .22's his new best friend
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| Now that Morgan’s dog is dead
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| You got to get a gun
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| Just in case you’re attacked
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| Sure hope you don’t have an accident
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| You’d shoot someone that you probably shouldn’t have
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| Oh no, you should never ever get a gun
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| Ah, you’d probably shoot your own damn dog
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| And your dog would be dead
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| Can’t get it through your head…
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| …Home and head to bed
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| Morgan’s dog is dead
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| Yes, Morgan’s dog is dead
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| After all is done and said
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| Morgan’s dog still dead |