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On the hill where custer was |
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Makin' his last stand |
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With the Indians all around |
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And his gun in his hand |
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Such a wind was blowin' that day |
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Through battleground |
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I could feel it in my hair |
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As I turned towards downtown |
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Weavin' through the buildings |
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Cuttin' though the streets |
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Slicin' through the culture |
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Pilin' on the weeks |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Droppin' in on you my friend |
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Is just like old times |
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Said the fool who signed the paper |
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To assorted slimes |
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It's hard to get blood from a stone |
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But I'll give it a try |
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To provide your accomodations |
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And leave you satisfied |
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You'd think it was easy |
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To give your life away |
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An' not have to live up to |
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The promises you made |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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Elusively she cut the phone |
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And went from cell to cell |
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Really lookin' remarkable |
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And obviously doing well |
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She made a turn on a wooden bridge |
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Into the battleground |
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With a thousand warriors on the ridge |
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She tried to turn her radio down |
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Battle drums were poundin' |
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All around her car |
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She saw her clothes were changin' |
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Into sky and stars |
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I'm goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |
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Goin' home |
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I'm goin' home |