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A cowpoke rode in, one hot dusty day |
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To a store down in old San Antone |
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He stood at the window and I heard him say |
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Do I have a letter from home |
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The postmaster looked through the mail that had come |
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Then smilingly shook his gray head |
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The cowpoke looked sadly a moment at him |
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And these are the words that he said |
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No letter from home, no letter from home |
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There's never a letter from home |
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No message from mother or none of the others |
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There's never a letter from home |
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That night he was shot on the wrong side of town |
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No more of those plains will he roam |
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I reached for my Bible and gave it to him |
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And said, "Son here's your letter from home" |
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"If only I had just a little more time |
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To read it", the young cowpoke said |
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"I can't take it with me and I must go on" |
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Then he died with his letter unread |
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The letter from home, the letter from home |
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No time for the letter from home |
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The cowboy laid dead with his letter unread |
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Too late for the letter from home |