| As we sat on the front porch
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| Of that old grey house where I was born and raised
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| Staring at the dusty fields
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| Where my daddy worked hard everyday
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| I think it kinda hurt him when I said
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| «Daddy there’s a lot that I don’t know
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| But don’t you ever dream about a life
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| Where corn don’t grow?»
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| He just sat there silent
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| Staring at his favorite coffee cup
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| I saw a storm of mixed emotions in his eyes
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| When he looked up
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| He said «son I know at your age
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| It seems like this ole world is turnin' slow
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| And you think you’ll find the answer to it all
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| Where corn don’t grow.»
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| Hard times are real
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| There’s dusty fields no matter where you go
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| You may change your mind
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| Cause the weeds are high where corn don’t grow
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| I remember feeling guilty
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| When Daddy turned and walked back in the house
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| I was only 17 back then
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| But I thought that I knew more than I know now
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| I can’t say he didn’t warn me
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| This city life’s a hard row to hoe
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| Ain’t it funny how a dream can turn around
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| Where corn don’t grow
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| Hard times are real
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| There’s dusty fields no matter where you go
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| You may change your mind
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| Cause the weeds are high where corn don’t grow
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| You may change your mind
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| Oh the weeds are high where corn don’t grow |