| I’m the son of a highway daughter
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| Born in gasoline
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| I traced the steps of my foolish father
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| And danced with the devil in Galilee
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| It was a cold winter, ice above the water
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| And nails stuck between my toes
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| So I pried out and I buried my doubt
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| In all the women along the road
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| And I went down to Dublin County
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| Where I found God in a bottle of wine
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| And I headed up north thinking I could find
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| Any work or peace of mind
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| Nobody sells that around here too much anymore
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| I woke up stoned with a bag of bones
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| Laying in my bed
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| She was breathing fire, I was a worn out tire
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| Trying to brush her ash outside of my head
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| It was an easy game, nothing in the chase
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| Needed something just a little more cold
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| So I traded her in for a bag of sin
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| And I headed on down the road
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| And I got lost in California
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| Where I’d been waiting on the days to rain
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| But I was looking to find any reason to hide
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| But no reason ever came
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| And all of the lonesome sounds of the streetlight
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| Pushing strangers along their way
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| That town kept calling me
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| That town kept calling me
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| That town kept calling me
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| But, that town kept calling me
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| That town kept calling me
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| That town kept calling me
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| That town kept calling me, yeah
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| Yeah, yeah
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| I’m the son of a highway daughter
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| Born in gasoline |