| You see these work boots in my hands, they’ll probably fit you now my son
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| Take them, they’re a gift from me, why don’t you try them on?
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| It would do your old man good to see you walking in these boots one day
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| And take your place among the men who work upon the slipway
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| These dead man’s boots, though they’re old and curled
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| When a feller needs a job and a place in the world
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| And it’s time for a man to put down roots
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| And walk to the river in his old man’s boots
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| He said, «I'm nearly done and asking this, that you do one final thing for me
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| You’re barely but a sapling, and you think that you’re a tree
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| If you need a seed to prosper, you must first put down some roots
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| Just one foot then the other in these dead man’s boots»
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| These dead man’s boots know their way down the hill
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| They could walk there themselves and they probably will
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| There’s a place for you there to sink your roots
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| And take a walk to the river in his old man’s boots
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| I said, «Why in the hell would I do that? |
| And why would I agree?»
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| When his hand was all that I’d received, as far as I remember
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| It’s not as if he’d spoiled me with his kindness up to then you see
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| I’d a plan of me own and I’d quit this place when I came of age September
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| These dead man’s boots know their way down the hill
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| They can walk there themselves and they probably will
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| I’d plenty of choices, and plenty other routes
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| And he’d never see me walking in these dead man’s boots
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| What was it made him think I’d be happy ending up like him?
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| When he’d hardly got two half pennies left, or a broken pot to piss in
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| He wanted this same thing for me, was that his final wish?
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| He said, «What the hell are you going to do?»
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| I said, «Anything but this!»
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| These dead man’s boots know their way down the hill
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| They can walk there themselves and they most likely will
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| But they won’t walk with me because I’m off the other way
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| I’ve had it up to here, I’m going to have my say
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| When all you’ve got left is that cross on the wall
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| I want nothing from you, I want nothing at all
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| Not a pension nor a pittance, when your whole life is through
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| Get this through your head, I’m nothing like you
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| I’m done with all the arguments, there’ll be no more dispute
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| And you’ll die before you see me in your dead man’s boots |