| Well my buckle makes impressions
|
| On the inside of her thigh
|
| There are little feathered Indians
|
| Where we tussled through the night
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| If I’d known she was religious
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| Then I wouldn’t have came stoned
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| To the house of such an angel
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| Too fucked up to get back home
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| Lookin' over West Virginia
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| Smoking Spirits on the roof
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| She asked ain’t anybody told ya
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| That them things are bad for you
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| I said many folks have warned me
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| There’s been several people try
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| But up till now, there ain’t been nothing
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| That I couldn’t leave behind
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| Hold me close my dear
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| Sing your whispering song
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| Softly in my ear
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| And I will sing along
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| Honey tell me how your love runs true
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| And how I can always count on you
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| To be there when the bullets fly
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| I’d run across the river just to hold you tonight
|
| Well my heart is sweating bullets
|
| From the circles it has raced
|
| Like a little feathered indian
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| Callin' out the clouds for rain
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| I’d go runnin' through the thicket
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| I’d go careless through the thorns
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| Just to hold her for a minute
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| Though it’d leave me wanting more
|
| Hold me close my dear
|
| Sing your whispering song
|
| Softly in my ear
|
| And I will sing along
|
| Honey tell me how your love runs true
|
| And how I can always count on you
|
| To be there when the bullets fly
|
| I’d run across the river just to hold you tonight |