| The wars looked like they were over
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| Everybody seemed to have a job
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| My old man put us down in the high clover
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| Three bedrooms on a quarter acre lot
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| And we were Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett
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| Fort Apache in the orchard 'cross the street
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| Out all day zoomin' 'round like rocket ships
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| My mama’d only call us in to eat
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| And they say that you can never go home again
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| If you do there won’t be anybody there
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| I can still hear the choir in the church where we wnt
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| I can still smell summer in the air
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| On Hawkye road
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| And I found out just what I wanted
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| It was nineteen fifty nine
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| I knew just what I was going to be
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| Playing felt like flying without even trying
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| And it still feels just like flying to me
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| Got a real Lowrey organ on one of my birthdays
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| My father must’ve robbed a bank to pay for that
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| They let us set it up in the living room and play and play and play
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| They never got that living room back
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| And they say that you can never go home again
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| And if you do there won’t be anybody there
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| I can still hear the choir in the church where we went
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| I can still smell summer in the air
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| And that house is still standing where it used to be
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| But fort Apache hasn’t been there in a while
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| There’s a highway running through the walnut trees
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| And the traffic seems to go on for miles
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| On Hawkeye road |