| Have you ever seen Duluth?
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| When the Great Lake waves are pounding?
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| There must be some way out of there
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| You might end up lost or drowning
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| And the polkas at the Polish dance hall
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| And the carnivals of spring
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| And the rock and roll on an upright piano
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| Didn’t the kid make the high school rafters ring?
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| The kid who heard Howlin' Wolf
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| Every night on the radio
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| From those airwaves blasting
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| All the way up from Nogales, Mexico
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| And the duck-tail boys in St. Cloud
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| Polished up their chords of fame
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| And the armory show
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| Where Buddy Holly sang 'The Learning of the Game'
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| Some things never change, on the Mesabi Iron Range
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| Where that wild north country rain screams
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| «Please don’t make me do the work my father did»
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| Bethlehem of the troubadour kid
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| Have you ever heard that desert wind blow
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| 'Cross the City of the Angels?
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| I was the kid playing football
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| In that Catholic school deep down in Mexican town
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| Richie Valens sang, 'La Bamba'
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| It’s 80 miles to Tijuana
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| I stole my parent’s car one night
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| Never found the dark-eyed ladies in the cowboy songs
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| Just a kid listening
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| To my Uncle George’s record player
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| While the great vinyl wheel spun
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| Round its holy prayer
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| And steel guitars in the Telecaster bars
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| Of the San Joaquin towns
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| And 'Don't Think Twice It’s Alright'
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| From the wild Mesabi Holy Ground
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| Some things never change
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| It’s still the learning of the game
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| You might end up on Fifth and Main, kid
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| Please don’t make me go out like my father did
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| I wanna sing like the troubadour kid |