| I make a living from a circuit I made
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| Out of trial and error and gigs that I’ve played
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| It might be the money or the town that it’s in
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| But mostly it’s people make you come back again
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| There was one little place that I played every year
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| It’s outside of Pittsburgh, I know it’s still there
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| Just a little old Moose lodge, the crowd was okay
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| But you’d never get rich from the money they’d pay
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| It’s mostly been silent since Rod was around
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| But that place used to fill with a bluegrassy sound
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| And I’ll never forget the way he made me feel
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| A big man with a big heart, named Rod McNeil
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| You might arrive tired and dark in a gloom
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| Then he’d buy a big dinner and pay for your room
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| Pete Rowan would hug him and call him his dad
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| Maybe that day the lonely road wasn’t so bad
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| I saw this and said that I’d buy it for Tim
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| Didn’t I Marty, he’d say with a grin
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| Now I keep that toy fiddle on my window sill
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| To remind me of Rod and those grey Pittsburgh hills
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| It’s mostly been silent since Rod was around
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| But that place used to fill with a bluegrassy sound
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| And I’ll never forget the way he made me feel
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| A big man with a big heart, named Rod McNeil |