| Papaw followed the timber in 1929
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| With seven hungry children
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| He was working all the time
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| Daddy was the middle son
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| Tough as a fire plug
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| That’s why Papaw chose him
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| To carry the water jug
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| Drink, drink, drink from the cup
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| Here’s a litle mud in your eye
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| Drink, drink fill her back up
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| Never let the jug run dry
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| The woods of Sylacauga
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| Is where they pitched their tent
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| Amidst lumberjacks and loggers
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| Worked hard for every cent
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| One day while hauling water
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| On the rounds he made
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| He watched a man get split in two
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| Who was careless with the blade
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| Drink, drink, drink from the cup
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| Here’s a little mud in your eye
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| Drink, drink fill her back up
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| Never let the jug run dry
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| Never let the jug run dry
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| As I look back I still recall
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| That everywhere he’d go
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| He always kept a water jug
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| Made sure he kept it full
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| Daddy loved to tell the tale
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| It never did get old
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| Visions of dead lumberjacks
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| Still make my flood run cold
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| Drink, drink, drink from the cup
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| Here’s a little mud in your eye
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| Drink, drink fill her back up
|
| Never let the jug run dry
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| Never let the jug run dry |