| There was a Camptown man, used to plow and sing
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| He loved that mule and the mule loved him
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| And when the day got long as it does about now
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| I’d hear him singing to his muley cow
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| Calling, «Come on my sweet old girl
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| I’d bet the whole damn world
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| We’re gonna make it yet to the end of the row»
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| Singing, hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, Bessie
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind no more
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| Said it’s a mean old world, heavy in need
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| That big machine is just picking up speed
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| They were supping on tears; |
| they were supping on wine
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| We all get to heaven in our own sweet time
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| So come on all you Asheville boys
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| Turn up your old-time noise
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| Kick 'til the dust comes up from the cracks in the floor
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| Singing, hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, brother
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind no more
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| But the Camptown man doesn’t plow no more
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| I seen him walking down to the cigarette store
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| I guess he lost that knack; |
| he forgot that song
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| Woke up one morning and his mule was gone
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| So come on you ragtime kings
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| Come on you dogs and sing
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| Pick up the dusty old horn and give it a blow
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| Playing hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, honey
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind, sugar
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| Hard times ain’t gonna rule my mind no more |