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She was a level-headed dancer |
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On the road to alcohol |
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And I was just a soldier |
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On my way to Montreal |
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Well she pressed her chest against me |
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About the time the juke box broke |
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Yeah, she give me a peck on the back of the neck |
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And these are the words she spoke |
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Blow up your T.V., throw away your paper |
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Go to the country, build you a home |
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Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches |
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Try an' find Jesus on your own |
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Well, I sat there at the table |
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And I acted real naive |
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For I knew that topless lady |
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Had something up her sleeve |
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Well, she danced around the bar room |
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And she did the hoochy-coo |
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Yeah she sang her song all night long |
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Tellin' me what to do |
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Blow up your T.V., throw away your paper |
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Go to the country, build you a home |
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Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches |
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Try an' find Jesus on your own |
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Well, I was young and hungry |
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And about to leave that place |
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When just as I was leavin' |
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Well she looked me in the face |
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I said "You must know the answer." |
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"She said, "No but I'll give it a try." |
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And to this very day we've been livin' our way |
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And here is the reason why |
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We blew up our T.V., threw away our paper |
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Went to the country, built us a home |
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Had a lot of children, fed 'em on peaches |
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They all found Jesus on their own |