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Joe: With a pick and pan 'round rebel roads
my back bears dirty cotton
These open sores remind a man
things that I'd forgotton
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western breeze and redwood trees
old home now forsaken
there's money on the coast and everyone knows
gold's there for the takin'
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Wheels won't roll in desert sand
blue skies keep me waiting
a dry creek bed offers no hope
the valley isn't draining
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two more days, then the rain
it's useless to my rifle
the fire wouldn't go, so I started coals
with pages from my bible
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It seems so few and far between
the times I catch me laughing
and times I'm cold with my regrets
I feel my fever passing
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Rations low, and talk of snow
the North Star now is fading
One more month I write my love...
We'll live the life I'm making
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One more month I write my love...
We'll live the life I'm making