| He was standing on the highway
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| Somewhere way out in the sticks
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| Guitar across his shoulder
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| Like a 30 ought six
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| He was staring in my headlights
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| When I come around the bend
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| Climbed up on my shotgun side
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| And told me with a grin
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| I’m going to New York City
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| I never really been there
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| Just like the way it sounds
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| I heard the girls are pretty
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| There must be something happening there
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| It’s just too big a town
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| He was cold and wet and hungry
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| But he never did complain
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| Said he’d come a thousand miles
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| Through sleet and snow and rain
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| He had a hundred stories
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| About the places that he’d been
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| He’d hang around a little while
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| And hit the road again
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| See I’ve been to New York City
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| Seems like it was yesterday
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| I was standing like a pilgrim
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| On the Great White Way
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| The girls were really pretty
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| But they wouldn’t talk to me
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| I held out about a week |