| I ride east every other Friday
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| and if I had it my way
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| the day would not be wasted on this drive.
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| and I want so bad to hold you
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| son, there’s things I haven’t told you
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| your mom and me couldn’t get along
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| so I drive, and I think about my life
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| and wonder why, that I slowly die inside
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| every time I turn that truck around
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| right at the Georgia line
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| and I count the days
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| and the miles back home to you
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| on that highway 20 ride.
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| The day might come you’ll realize
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| That if you see thru my eyes
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| There was no other way to work it out
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| And a part of you might hate me But son please don’t mistake me For a man that didn’t care at all
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| And drive, and I think about my life
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| And wonder why, that I slowly die inside
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| Every time i turn that truck around
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| right at the Georgia line
|
| And I count the days
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| and the miles back home to you
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| On that highway 20 ride.
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| So when you drive,
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| and the years go flying by I hope you smile,
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| if I ever cross your mind
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| It was the pleasure of my life
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| And I cherished everytime
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| And my whole world
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| it begins and ends with you
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| on that highway 20 ride
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| Whoa 20 ride
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| Whoa 20 ride
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| Highway 20 ride.
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| and I ride.
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| Whoa. |