| Ramblin' outa the wild west,
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| Leavin' the towns i love the best.
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| Thought i’d seen some ups and down,
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| «til i come into new york town.
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| People goin' down to the ground,
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| Buildings goin' up to the sky.
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| Wintertime in new york town,
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| The wind blowin' snow around.
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| Walk around with nowhere to go,
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| Somebody could freeze right to the bone.
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| I froze right to the bone.
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| New york times said it was the coldest winter in seventeen years;
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| I didn’t feel so cold then.
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| I swung on to my old guitar,
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| Grabbed hold of a subway car,
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| And after a rocking, reeling, rolling ride,
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| I landed up on the downtown side;
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| Greenwich village.
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| I walked down there and ended up
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| In one of them coffee-houses on the block.
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| Got on the stage to sing and play,
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| Man there said, «come back some other day,
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| You sound like a hillbilly;
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| We want folk singer here.»
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| Well, i got a harmonica job, begun to play,
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| Blowin' my lungs out for a dollar a day.
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| I blowed inside out and upside down.
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| The man there said he loved m' sound,
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| He was ravin' about how he loved m' sound;
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| Dollar a day’s worth.
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| And after weeks and weeks of hangin' around,
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| I finally got a job in new york town,
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| In a bigger place, bigger money too,
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| Even joined the union and paid m' dues.
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| Now, a very great man once said
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| That some people rob you with a fountain pen.
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| It didn’t take too long to find out
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| Just what he was talkin' about.
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| A lot of people don’t have much food on their table,
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| But they got a lot of forks n' knives,
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| And they gotta cut somethin'.
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| So one mornin' when the sun was warm,
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| I rambled out of new york town.
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| Pulled my cap down over my eyes
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| And headed out for the western skies.
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| So long, new york. |