| I was just a boy the year the Blue Bird Special came through hereon its first
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| run South to New Orleans
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| A blind old man and I, we came to Guthrie just to see the train.
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| He was black and I was green
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| «Tell me what you see,» said he. |
| «Is the engine black or red, son?
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| That’s the loudest thing I’ve ever seen.»
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| Then he picked his guitar up and sat on the fender of a truck. |
| Then his eyes
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| lit up as he begin to sing
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| I remember when that old man’s dreams were chained to a depot down in Guthrie
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| and a Blue Bird Special train
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| Then he picked his guitar up and shuffled down the walk to the cars of town
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| wound 'round the building at his feet
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| Looking mighty proud, that old man, with his battered hat in his hand.
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| Lord, he sang a song that made me weep
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| Yes, he made me weep
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| I read it in a week-old paper. |
| No one made it for his death or even lay a
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| flower at his feet
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| He was just a blind old beggar. |
| He was sad, but, Lord, I’ll wager he won’t beg
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| for nothing on his street
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| You will find him, Lord, this morning. |
| He’ll be stepping from your door
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| Can you save a street in glory for Cortelia Clark?
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| 'Cause I was just a boy the week the Blue Bird Special came through here on its
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| first run South to New Orleans
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| A blind old man and I, we came to Guthrie just to see the train.
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| He was black and was I green |