| Well I trace shapes and clouds and I saw things I never seen
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| We move renegades down in the states reload there magazine
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| Almost killed me in that city it was far to close to call
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| To put money in the bags with wanted posters off the wall
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| Say I’m wanted for a murder of a man I never seen
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| They say I shot him dead, one to his head, somewhere in holly springs
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| They have killed a man before not the one that they explain
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| They’ll see the barrel of my gun before they ever see me hang
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| Oh if my southern hearts still pumping blood
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| Still pumping blood
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| Well ill bury my money in the mighty Mississippi mud
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| Oh and if my southern lungs wont let me breath
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| Wont Let me breath
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| Well ill wake up the cicadas and I’ll let them push it out for me
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| Well death is always close there always fortress on my trail
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| And the inside of this hotels better than a prison cell
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| Well that southern whiskeys stinging singing words upon my breath
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| I was worried bout forgetting so I tattooed it on my chest
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| I’m a southern man forever like the wind inside the ponds
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| And my grandpa used to sing it oh to my brother and I
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| How I wish could get back the precious thoughts and newer skin
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| And we scurried out the window before the cops they busted in
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| Oh if my southern hearts still pumping blood
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| Still pumping blood
|
| Well ill bury my money in the mighty Mississippi mud
|
| Oh and if my southern lungs wont let me breath
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| Wont Let me breath
|
| Well ill wake up the cicadas and I’ll let them push it out for me
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| We were messages familians, we’re a midnight mascaraed
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| We can walk away form all this as the town goes up in flames
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| As civilians in a war we can die right were we live
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| You can walk away from all this go back home to see your kids
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| I’ve got a knife inside my boot yes my brothers got one too
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| We can bring em all, lets have a ball, ive got nothing to lose
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| I got hearts and bended knees that shake no one that can see
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| No one here was coming faster, no one there will bother me
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| Oh if my southern hearts still pumping blood
|
| Still pumping blood
|
| Well ill bury my money in the mighty Mississippi mud
|
| Oh and if my southern lungs wont let me breath
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| Wont Let me breath
|
| Well ill wake up the cicadas and I’ll let them push it out for me |