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They all, were losers, |
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And none had a dime. |
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And they all drew pictures, |
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Of what was stored in their minds. |
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Questions and answers, |
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Filled with fables and rhymes. |
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Headed west was a '49er, |
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To stake his new shrine. |
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Some never made, |
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Their dreams come to life. |
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Many men fell, |
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From a gun or a knife. |
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They grew old and weary, |
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And ashamed, |
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Of the stories they told, |
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And the wealth that they gained. |
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But the road, was a rough one, |
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Wind and hills were their foe. |
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And no man, was a low man, |
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They were too young to know. |
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Headed west was a 49er, |
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Get rich quick, live life finer. |
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On and on and on, the story goes. |
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Some never made, |
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Their dreams to life. |
|
Many men fell, |
|
From a gun or a knife. |
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They grew old and weary, |
|
And ashamed, |
|
Of the stories they told, |
|
And the wealth that they gained. |
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Now rich man, and poor, |
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Aren't equal to one. |
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And they follow the stars, |
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Once the journey's begun. |
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Shines the gleam, in their eye, |
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And the song in their heart. |
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If the land don't shred his mind, |
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It'll tear his soul apart. |
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Some never made, |
|
Their dreams come to life. |
|
Many men fell, |
|
From a gun or a knife. |
|
They grew old and weary, |
|
And ashamed, |
|
Of the stories they told, |
|
And the wealth that they gained. |
|
Some never made, |
|
Their dreams come to life. |
|
Many men fell, |
|
To a gun or a knife. |
|
They grew old and weary, |
|
And ashamed, |
|
Of the stories that told, |
|
And the wealth that they gained. |
|
That they gained. |