| Alligator skins, crocodile hides, good ol' boys, and their Southern brides
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| City folk come for the lure of the bounty
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| But they don’t come back 'cause the sheriff of the country is
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| Buford T. Jefferson Davis III
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| And I’m only here to warn you if you haven’t heard about:
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| Gator hides- a sheriff’s pride
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| Everyglades mirrored shades
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| He’s a good ol' boy but he ain’t no good
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| He’ll bust your head on a stump
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| Just like splittin' wood
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| Got a story of his own though he ain’t askin' for pity
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| Saw his folks shot dead for twelve dollars in the city
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| So Buford was orphaned by the city at ten
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| Got a chip on his shoulder the size of Gentle Ben
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| Hunted 10,000 islands, drank 10,000 beers
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| Wanted 10,000 dollars, got 10,000 years
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| So I drank myself blind, on a homemade solution
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| As my body rots away in a penal institution
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| So if you come for the gators let me give you a clue
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| The shefiff of the county’s got it in for you |