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My daddy had a pontiac on the beige-er side of yellow |
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He was a young man then and I was a little fella |
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I'd play in that bench back seat |
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And listen to the songs get sung |
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He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket |
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But he'd sing at the top of his lungs |
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Carry on my wayward son on the hippie radio |
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Songs about the flower babies and the birth of rock and roll |
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And I was a band I would stand |
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And we'd bounce down the road |
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A boy and his dad in a pontiac with that hippie radio |
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Can't' remember if it was seventeen maybe eighteen is right |
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But I'll never forget those baby blues |
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And the glow of that dashboard light |
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I'd won her heart the week before |
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And it was hot right from the start |
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I busted her brother billy's mouth for makin' fun of my car |
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It was white wedding and rebel yell on the hippie radio |
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I was a werewolf in london |
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And she was lady marmalade's soul |
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And I'd crank the band take her hand |
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And we'd pull off back a road |
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A boy and his girl in a pontiac and the hippie radio |
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Four years and seven days from tying cans to the bumper |
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I was pacing a maternity floor my flower baby was a mother |
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My hands were shaking as we were leaving taking our boy home |
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My heart was full and in my head |
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I could hear a long long song |
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Cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon on the hippie radio |
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A-b-c 1-2-3 don't blink or he'll be gone |
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And I took her hand and |
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She just smiled with a look that said I know |
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A boy and his dad |
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And a boy and his girl in a pontiac |
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And the hippie radio |