| I was born right here in Zion, God’s own son
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| His Holy Ghost stories and bloodshed never scared me none
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| While they bowed their heads on Sunday
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| I cut out through the hedges and fields
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| Where the light could place its hands on my head
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| In the west hills
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| Free in the west hills
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| Free in the west hills
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| She’s got two full-grown children, one still on the vine
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| And once I got to know him I loved him like he was mine
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| Some nights we drive up the mouth of the canyon
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| On hillbilly heroin pills
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| We get out and watch the sunset
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| Peaceful and still
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| And free in the west hills
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| Free in the west hills
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| When the sheriff kicked my door down
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| I was sleeping in my own bed
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| And the mess I got caught up in
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| Rained hard down on my head
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| They got me for possession of them hillbilly heroin pills
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| Enough to kill the horses that run free in the west hills
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| They got me for possession of enough to kill the horses that run
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| Free in the west hills
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| Free in the west hills
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| If this life was meant for proving
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| I could use more years to live
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| But fifteen in a guardhouse
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| That’s more than I’m willing to give
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| And if there really is a judgement
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| When He pulls my chart
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| He’ll reject my actions
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| But He will know my heart
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| And he’ll prepare a place for me
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| Where happiness instills
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| And the light puts its loving hands on my head
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| Free in the west hills
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| They got me for possession of enough to kill the horses that run
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| Free in the west hills
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| Free in the west hills
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| Free, free in the west hills, in the west hills, in the west hills |