| Met her in old mexico
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| She was laughing sad and young
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| In a smokey room no-one could see
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| All the poets they agreed
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| Spanish is a loving tongue but
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| She never spoke spanish to me
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| She was born in Monterey
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| And all the Christmas songs were sung
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| The padre knew what she’d grow up to be
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| Saints and sinners all agree
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| Spanish is a loving song
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| But she never spoke Spanish to me
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| Like a lion screamin in the jungleO
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| She never
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| She spoke to all the shadows in her bungalow
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| But she never spoke Spanish to me
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| She said «If you’re from Texas, son
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| Where’s your boots and where’s your gun?»
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| I smiled and said «I got guns no-one can see!»
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| She laughed at that and both agreed
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| Spanish is a loving tongue but
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| She never spoke Spanish to me
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| I left her in old Mexico… |