| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now
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| Oh, the trains leave every morning, some go east and some go west
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| And the clacking of the iron is the sound you love the best
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| It’s the great escape from railroad bulls and the Coney Island girls
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| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown eyed boy with curls
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| Sing the truth, scream it loud
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| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now
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| All those boxcars full of Chinese junk, the caboose has been junk piled
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| And we’re all buying groceries now from men with crooked smiles
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| You were a drunken, wild misogyneer and your politics were crude
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| As you sat home writing nursery rhymes and drawing women nude
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| And all those politicians breaths stink bad, be they left or be they right
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| And the ones who play with rhetoric are not the ones to fight
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| Don’t go coming 'round here, Woodrow, they’ll stretch you from a rope
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| And your corpse won’t ever find a bar where a man can drink and smoke
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| Repeat Sing the truth, scream it loud
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| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now
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| Instrumental ()
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| Did you hear the screen door slam, Ma, Woodrow’s gone again
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| He’s writin' obscene letters now, the Feds might bring him in
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| But every song he ever wrote is hangin' on the breeze
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| With the laundry in the Guthrie yard full of Huntington’s disease
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| So, Woodrow, rest in peace, old pal, there ain’t nothin' for you here
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| We’re in the scrub oak country now, the land of dread an' fear
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| And whitey’s in the wood pile and the writing’s on the wall
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| But your ring of truth still echoes down the Greystone clinic hall
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| Repeat Sing the truth, scream it loud
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| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now
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| So here’s to all outsiders, all the ones who could not fit
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| The troubadour, the prisoners, the drunken Indian
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| Ah, the circus freaks, the wounded lovers will make it through somehow
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| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, we are ridin' blind with your brown eyed baby now
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| Sing the truth scream it loud
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| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown-eyed baby now
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| Sing the truth, scream it loud
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| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown-eyed baby now |