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In an old pickup truck, with his hat pulled down |
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He drives them old Montana backroads |
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Remembering half-forgotten times, and wondering where it's gone |
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And if he can still carry the load |
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Now, the summer sun is setting, and the moon is on the rise |
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As he pulls that old pickup into town |
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And he parks beside the place where the feed store used to be |
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And he heads for an old familiar sound |
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Those honky-tonk bands still play old-time songs |
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Remembering how things used to be |
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Sitting at the bar with his head down in his hands |
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So alone with his memories |
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Lord, he's so alone with his memories |
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He remembers back in '33, or was it '34 |
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The year that he won the rodeo |
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The buckle that they gave him, well, he still wears today |
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For that Brahma bull that he rode |
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But his riding days are over now, his back is getting weak |
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And his eyesight, it just ain't as good |
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As the days he'd spot a deer at a hundred yards or more |
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And bring back a month's supply of food |
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Those honky-tonk bands still play old-time songs |
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Remembering how things used to be |
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Sitting at the bar with his head down in his hands |
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So alone with his memories |
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Lord, he's so alone with his memories |
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Now the bar is getting set to close, they say he's got to leave |
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But it feels like, Lord, he just arrived |
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So he downs his last shot as he's heading for the door |
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Getting ready for that long and lonely drive |
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In an old pickup truck, with his hat pulled down |
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He drives them old Montana backroads |
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Remembering half-forgotten times, and wondering where it's gone |
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And if he can still carry the load |
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Those honky-tonk bands still play old-time songs |
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Remembering how things used to be |
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And he tumbles through the door, and he falls down on his bed |
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Still alone with his memories |
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Lord, he's still alone with his memories |