| Took my first breath, where the muddy Brazos
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| Spills into the Gulf of Mexico
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| Where the skyline’s colored by chemical plants
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| T’put bread on the table of the working man
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| Where the working man does his best to provide
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| Safety and shelter for kids and a wife
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| Given little of his soul every day
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| Making over time to keep the wolves away
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| Well I was barely thirteen when the company man
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| Tried to dig my dad his grave
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| It happened on a French owned tanker ship
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| Spillin'
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| poison
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| in the Galveston Bay
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| Where the liquid fire filled his lungs and his eyes
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| Silenced any mortal cries
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| Cold and the grip of death stinging pain
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| He fought like hell to keep the wolves away
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| For the next few years dad was sick as a dog
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| But he made a recovery just to spite the odds
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| The settlement came and we moved out of town
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| Where the sky isn’t heavy with refinery clouds
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| Yeah he’s still alive he’s doing good he’s in his fifties
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| But the moneys running out, 'n he’s pinching for pennies
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| So goin' for broke with every song I’ve made
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| Cause now it’s my turn to keep the wolves away |