| This old porch is like a big old red and white Hereford bull
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| Standing under a mesquite tree
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| Out in Agua Dulce
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| And he just keeps on playing hide and seek
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| With that hot August sun
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| Just a-sweatin' and a-pantin'
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| Cause his work is never done
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| And this old porch is like a steaming, greasy plate of enchiladas
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| With lots of cheese and onions
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| And a guacamole salad
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| And you can get’em down at the LaSalle Hotel
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| In old downtown
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| With iced tea and a waitress
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| And she will smile every time
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| And this old porch is the Palace walk-in
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| On the main street of Texas
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| That’s never seen the day
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| Of G and R and Xs
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| With that '62 poster
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| That’s almost faded down
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| And a screen without a picture
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| Since Giant came to town
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| And this old porch is like a weathered, gray-haired
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| Seventy years of Texas
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| Who’s doing all he can
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| Not to give in to the city
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| And he always takes the rent late
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| So long as I run the cattle
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| And he picks me up at dinnertime
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| And I listen to him rattle
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| He says the Brazos still runs muddy
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| Just like she’s run all along
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| And there ain’t never been no cane to grind
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| The cotton’s all but gone
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| And you know this brand new Chevrolet
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| Hell it was something back in '60
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| But now there won’t nobody listen to him
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| 'Cause they all think he’s crazy
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| And this old porch is just a long time
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| Of waiting and forgetting
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| And remembering the coming back
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| And not crying about the leaving
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| And remembering the falling down
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| And the laughter of the curse of luck
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| From all of those passers-by
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| Who said we’d never get back up
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| This old porch is just a long time
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| Of waiting and forgetting
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| And remembering the coming back
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| And not crying about the leaving
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| And remembering the falling down
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| And the laughter of the curse of luck
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| From all of those sons-of-bitches
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| Who said we’d never get back up |