| Oh babe, I hate to leave you here
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| Down in this one horse town
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| Where the train runs through
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| Your early mornin' dreams
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| Just to leave that ol' wailin' sound
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| Oh, but I’m comin' back, I will return
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| Now woman, you wait for me
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| I’m bound to travel the U.S.A
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| From the desert unto the sea
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| I’ve got another song about the South
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| You know it’s white now and it’s black
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| There ain’t no banjo on my knee
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| But that song is still on my back
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| It’s a long, long way to Hollywood
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| And it’s a short, short chance for fame
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| All them slicks people talkin' back home
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| But I’ll make it just the same
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| Oh, I’ll make it just the same
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| I’ve got a new song for all them old people
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| Hoverin' down in the Georgia night
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| Lord, I know their wings are heavy now
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| 'Coz they been on a lonesome flight
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| All them poor old depression people, babe
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| You know they took a might heavy load
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| All the children, kinfolks, cousins too
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| Still walkin' down Tobacco Road
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| Well, if you’ll tell me about Hank Williams, Lord
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| They’re clingin' onto his fame
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| I’m of the same race, I’m from the same place
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| Got the same lonesome blood in my veins
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| It’s a long, long way to Hollywood
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| And it’s a short, short chance for fame
|
| All them slicks people talkin' down home
|
| But I’ll make it just the same
|
| Oh, I’ll make it just the same
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| It’s a long, long way to Hollywood
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| And it’s a short, short chance for fame |