| My uncle died in a fire on his birthday
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| Redneck that he was, burning trash in his yard one day
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| And onto the pile, he threw an aerosol can of spray
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| And that’s how he died in the fire that day
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| Before he retired, he was a truck driver
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| He’d be gone through the winters and all through the summers
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| In the winters, us kids would order at Domino’s and watch Happy Days
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| And in the summer, we’d gig frogs at the pond and fry up their legs
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| My aunt still lives there
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| Out in Ohio
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| I visit her in the elder care
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| She makes me smile
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| We remember the story
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| Of when I was young
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| Getting stung by a hornet
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| She caressed my foot, rubbed baking powder on it
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| I was probably five at their home in Navarre
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| My cousin’s friend was in the yard, playing guitar
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| We all gathered around to listen to her play and sing
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| And I fell into a trance and knew that one day, I’d do the same thing
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| My uncle died in a fire on his birthday
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| Out by the barn and his old collection of cars
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| Third-degree burns, a charred-up shovel near his hand
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| My uncle died a respected man
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| I flew out there
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| I went to his funeral
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| It was storming that day
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| The sky was deep purple
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| And babies were crying
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| Kentucky Fried Chicken was served
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| And that’s how he would’ve wanted it
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| I’m sure
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| And after the funeral out there in Navarre
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| They all gathered 'round when I picked up a guitar
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| They fell into a trance as I sang and I played
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| And outside, the frogs croaked, and the mantises prayed |