| he was trippin' in montana
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| on a cold dark path
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| he was looking for salvation
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| and a hot clean bath
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| left a bloody situation
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| but he was not to blame
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| like that run-in with the agent
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| who promised gold and instant fame
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| he had a way to look important
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| fooled everyone around
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| like how he held his shoulders
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| and he always stood his ground
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| they used to say he looked like jesus
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| and that really frightened him
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| changed his face in amarillo
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| just to clear his name from sin
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| he went trippin', trippin' in montana
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| like the good book said
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| (he/they) went trippin', trippin' in montana
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| living the words that he read
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| you heard him talk about this good place
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| where all your memories are safe
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| you can always find forgiveness
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| and ugly ducks will fly with grace
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| trail your way up this mountain
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| to the kingdom of the saints
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| there’s a banquet in the rockies
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| that your holy man arranged
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| he lit ‘em up out of the darkness
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| before the demons took the stage
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| they made a perfect circle
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| and acted out his holy rage
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| touched their hearts with conviction
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| and he made them understand
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| he held them up with all his courage
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| and cut them down with his left hand
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| he went trippin', trippin' in montana
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| like the good book said
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| (he/they) went trippin', trippin' in montana
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| living the words that he read
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| (instrumental break)
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| it was a hopeless situation
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| we all knew it had to end
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| bow your head and seek salvation
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| close your eyes and lose your head |