| Maver with her lucky bonnet
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| She used to paint her flowers on it
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| She keeps her memories on a turnstile
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| 'Cause she’s superstitious
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| She thought she’d be famous
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| And tell me if I’m wrong
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| But I think she still just likes to play them
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| Yeah and maybe you’ll be lucky enough
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| To hear her sing on Sunday
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| Oh Maver
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| Maver and her bonnet
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| Streaks of life upon it
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| Betting on the ponies
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| So things could get easier
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| Just praying on a easy peace for her
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| Oh Maver
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| She was a true blue blooded traveler
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| She left her home post for the West Coast
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| With a guitar and a bar of soap for 'ol San Francisco
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| And a fool hearted head of hope
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| Well she landed in a flat
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| With some fellas that were lucky to meet her
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| 'Cause she could play the six-string better than
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| Those macho pendejos
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| Oh Maver
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| Maver and her bonnet
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| Streaks of life upon it
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| Betting on the ponies
|
| So things could get easier
|
| Just praying on a easy peace for her
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| How many nights did you make it without it?
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| Oh
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| How many lines on your face have paved your way in stone?
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| Oh
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| How many nights did you make it without it?
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| Oh
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| How many lines on your face have paved your way in stone?
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| Oh
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| Maver and her bonnet
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| Streaks of life upon it
|
| Betting on the ponies
|
| So things could get easier
|
| Just praying on a easy peace for her
|
| Just praying on a easy peace for her
|
| Oh Maver
|
| Oh Maver
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| Oh Maver |