| Riding along in a little red wagon
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| Papa tells jokes just to keep us a-laughing
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| Attached to the back of that dirty old rusty John Deere
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| We bump along through the dirt in the garden
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| Our knees all bruised up and feet just as hard as the rocks in the creek bed
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| We walk on for hours on end
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little again
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| We wandered down every trail on that hillside
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| Learned every lesson by the light of the fireflies
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| Creek’s kinda cold, don’t tip-toe, you gotta jump in
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| When I get lonely I dream of the valley
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| Kid shifting gears in a '63 Chevy
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| Muscadine vines and the maple trees catching the wind
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little again
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| It’s one of those days when you wake up in some broken city
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| With nothing but home on your mind
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| And all of these days when they add up, they amount to nothing
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| Like all the ones you’ve left behind
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| Now we’re all grown and our ways have parted
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| But in Happy Valley is where it all started
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| It still has my heart resting between those two hills
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| I travel the world and see lots of places
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| Sing lots of songs to all kinds of faces
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| But that don’t compare to adventures I had way back when
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little again
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| It’s one of those days when you wake up in some broken city
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| With nothing but home on your mind
|
| And all of these days when they add up, they amount to nothing
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| Like all the ones you’ve left behind
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little again
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little again
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| It’s one of those days where I want to be little |