| I packed up my suitcase and left the old farm
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| I promised my papa, I’d come to no harm
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| And I went to the city where I was employed
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| In a firm of accountants as an office boy
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| I fetched and I carried, I watched and I learned
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| And slowly but surely I rose through the firm
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| But then I discovered my colleagues one day
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| Massaging the figures for personal gain
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| I said, «I'll not wallow in this house of shame»
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| I’ll plough my own furrow, I’ll go my own way
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| Gravely I listened to Reverend McBride
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| Down at the mission house each Friday night
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| Heaven’s salvation for those who know best
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| Hell and damnation for all of the rest
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| Try as I might, I could not understand
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| Why The Almighty’s all merciful hand
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| Should cast away those whose only mistake
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| Was never to know the Christian faith
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| The stars that we follow can lead us astray
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| I’ll plough my own furrow, I’ll go my own way
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| I fled from the capital’s bourgeois malaise
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| And trekked through the wilderness for fourteen days
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| 'Til I found the guerrillas camped high in the hills
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| I asked Comrade Diaz, whom I should kill
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| I crept into town with a knife in my teeth
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| And entered the home of the Chief of Police
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| I stood at his bedside and raised up my blade
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| Then I looked to the crib where his little one lay
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| You murder tomorrow by killing today
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| I’ll plough my own furrow, I’ll go my own way |