| I’ll sing you a song about a southern town where the devil had his rule
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| When marshalls faced an angry mob to send one man to school
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| His name was jimmy meredith
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| The tide he helped to turn
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| For he chose to stay on that terrible day
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| The land was soon to learn
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| There was blood, red blood, on their hands
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| Yellow dirt on their clothes
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| What they thought they were doing
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| Only God and the devil knows
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| There was hate, cold hate, in their hearts
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| Shot from their souls like a gun
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| And as they threw their stones and bricks
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| They screamed, «see what you have done!»
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| The governor made a promise he would keep the trouble down
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| But when the mob got ugly no troopers could be found
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| And men were filled with hate and fear
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| They screamed into the night
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| The rebel flag waved in the air
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| The symbol of state’s rights
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| There was blood, red blood, on their hands
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| Yellow dirt on their clothes
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| What they thought they were doing
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| Only God and the devil knows
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| There was hate, cold hate, in their hearts
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| Shot from their souls like a gun
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| And as they threw their stones and bricks
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| They screamed, «see what you have done!»
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| Gas was fired into the mob after each attack
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| And though the gas was running low, they never fired back
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| And when the smoke had cleared and the fury felt it’s pain
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| Two men were dead and a hundred bled
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| The south had risen again
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| So listen mr barnet, and mr walker, too
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| The times are changing mighty fast, they’ll roll right over you
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| But someday you’ll head for the south, to the southern tip of hell
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| And it’s hot down there, white-hot down there
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| Let’s hear your rebel yell!
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| There was blood, red blood, on their hands
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| Yellow dirt on their clothes
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| What they thought they were doing
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| Only God and the devil knows
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| There was hate, cold hate, in their hearts
|
| Shot from their souls like a gun
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| And as they threw their stones and bricks
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| They screamed, «see what you have done!»
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| «see what you have done!» |