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My driftin' memory goes back to the spring of '42 when |
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I was just a child in |
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Momma's arms, |
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My Daddy plowed the fields and prayed and did all he could do to save that broke-down |
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Oklahoma farm, |
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Then one night |
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I heard my |
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Daddy sayin' to my |
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Momma, that he finally saved enough for us to go, |
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California was his dream, a paradise that he had seen, the pictures and the magazines had told him so |
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California cotton fields, where labor camps were filled with worried men and broken dreams, |
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California cotton fields, was as close to wealth as |
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Daddy ever came |
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Almost everything we owned was sold or left behind, from |
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Daddy's tools to the fruit that |
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Momma canned, |
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Some folks came to say farewell and see what all we had to sell, some just came to shake my |
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Daddy's hand |
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The model |
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T was loaded down and |
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California bound and the dream of hope was just four days away, |
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But the only change that |
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I remember seein' in my |
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Daddy was when his brown hair turned to silver grey |
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California cotton fields, where labor camps were filled with worried men and broken dreams, |
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California cotton fields, was as close to wealth as |
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Daddy ever came |