| The summer wind is blowing westward
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| Over the field of fresh moved hay
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| Let’s go up to the barn loft
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| Lay back and watch the sparrows play
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| I can see the evening sky
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| From the holes rusted in the tin
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| Let’s close our eyes and fall asleep
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| And listen to the storm roll in
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| It sounded like a thousand horses' hooves
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| The sound of the pourin' rain on the old tin roof
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| The clouds were as black as the smoke form the stack
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| Of an old coal-burning train
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| Lay back and listen to the sound of the pourin' rain
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| It ain’t rained in weeks and now it just won’t stop
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| All the rivers and the creeks
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| Are getting fuller with every drop
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| If the levee holds it’s ground
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| And keeps that water back
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| The Mississippi won’t reach my little tar-paper shack
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| Well now the sun shines on the roof
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| And the moonshine is in the cellar
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| And what a happy feller I am
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| To finally see the sun
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| Now that the rain is done
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| 'cause I’ve had about all I can stand
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| I can’t tell where my pond begins
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| An where my cornfield ends
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| The cattle done floated away
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| 'cause the water’s up over the fence |