| Clothes are on the line
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| Cover on the wind
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| Had a drink it must be time
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| Momma sits and rest
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| It’s a summer in the middle of nowhere
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| Reality is a heat
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| And all we have and all we know is what’s within our reach
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| And I wonder at the crossroads
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| Where the big yellow bus picks up the children
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| Takes em all down the road
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| I look at the mama and she knows I really want to go
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| She says Joe it’s best if you stay here with us
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| You’re thirty years old and there ain’t no place for you on that bus
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| But I can ride on the tailgate of my daddy’s truck
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| He would take me to the river
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| I could hear the boys cutting up
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| Said I hey Joe where you been
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| The water’s fine jump on in
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| Hey Joe make me smile
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| I could forget about the crossroads for a while
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| Purple Martins came every year without felt
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| Then turned left and the old bird box
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| And the babies they went quietly in their shell
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| Til the mama breaks them open and they see the sky
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| And it don’t take long and there’s magic where they fly
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| Still I wonder about the crossroads
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| Where the ice truck makes it stop
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| Drops off the blocks of ice
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| And the people wrap it up in bags of sawdust close it up real tight
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| Carry it home
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| Like blocks of gold
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| Man I wonder about the crossroads
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| Crossroads
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| In the middle of nowhere |