| My name is Billy Austin
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| I’m twenty-nine years old
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| I was born in Oklahoma
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| Quarter Cherokee I’m told
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| Don’t remember Oklahoma
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| It’s been so long since I left home
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| Seems like I’ve always been in prison
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| Like I’ve always been alone
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| Didn’t mean to hurt nobody
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| Never thought I’d cross that line
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| I held up a filling station
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| Like I’d done a hundred times
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| The kid done like I told him
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| He lay face down on the floor
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| Guess I’ll never know what made me
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| Turn and walk back through that door
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| The shot rang out like thunder
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| My ears rang like a bell
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| No one came running
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| And so I called the cops myself
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| Took their time to get there
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| And I guess I could’a run
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| I knew I should be feeling something
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| But I never shed tear one
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| I didn’t even make the papers
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| Because I only killed one man
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| But my trial was over quickly
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| And then the long hard wait began
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| Court appointed lawyer
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| Couldn’t look me in the eye
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| He just stood up and closed his briefcase
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| When they sentenced me to die
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| And now my waiting’s over
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| As the final hour drags by
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| I ain’t about to tell you
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| That I don’t deserve to die
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| There’s twenty-seven men here
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| Mostly black and brown and poor
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| And most of 'em are guilty
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| And who are you to say for sure?
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| So when the preacher comes to get me
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| And they shave off all my hair
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| Could you take that long walk with me
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| Knowing Hell’s waiting there?
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| Could you pull that switch yourself, sir
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| With a sure and steady hand?
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| Could you still tell yourself, sir
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| That you’re better than I am?
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| My name is Billy Austin
|
| I’m twenty-nine years old
|
| I was born in Oklahoma
|
| Quarter Cherokee I’m told |