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E'er since Miss Susan Johnson lost her Jockey, Lee |
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There has been much excitement, more to be |
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You can hear her moaning night and morn |
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Wonder where my easy rider's gone? |
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Cable grams come of sympathy |
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Telegrams go of inquiry |
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Letters come from down in, 'Bam' |
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And everywhere that Uncle Sam |
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Has even a rural delivery |
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All day the phone rings but it's not for me |
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At last good tidings fill our hearts with glee |
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This message comes from Tennessee |
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Dear Sue, your easy rider struck this burg today |
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On a south-bound rattler side door Pullman car |
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Seen him here an' he was on the hog |
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Spoken the smoke was broke, no joke, not a jitney on him |
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Easy rider's gotta stay away |
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So he had to vamp it but the hike ain't far |
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He's gone where the southern cross' the Yellow Dog |
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I know the Yellow Dog district like a book |
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Indeed I know the route that rider took |
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Ev'ry cross tie, bayou, burg and bog |
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Way down where the southern cross' the Dog |
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Money don't zactly grow on trees |
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On cotton stalks it grows with ease |
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No race horse, race track, no grand stand |
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Is like old beck and buckshot land |
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Down where the southern cross' the Dog |
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Every kitchen there is a cabaret |
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Down there the Boll Weevil works while the darkies play |
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This Yellow Dog blues the live long day |
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Dear Sue, your easy rider struck this burg today |
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On a south-bound rattler side door Pullman car |
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Seen him here an' he was on the hog |
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Spoken the smoke was broke, no joke, not a jitney on him |
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Easy rider's gotta stay away |
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So he had to vamp it but the hike ain't far |
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He's gone where the southern cross' the Yellow Dog |