| Well I got my old bulldozer
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| Got my dozer-hauling truck
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| And I got my demolition order
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| Got to be out there by sunup
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| So I head west on Arroyo
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| Right turn at Bishop Road
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| Pull up by the schoolhouse and
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| Jack down my dozer load
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| What I’d see?
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| Dirt roads, beat up shacks
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| Stretched out as far as I can see
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| Don’t throw that brick my way, buddy
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| 'Cause it’s just work: it's just work for me
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| Now they called out all the police
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| Police dragged some old lady
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| Right downstairs, hollering
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| «Move your ass, all you taco benders
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| We’re gonna protect and serve you right on away from here.»
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| It ain’t none of my business
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| And it ain’t my master plan
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| You got to go where they send you
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| When you’re a dozer-drivin' man
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| I see dirt roads, beat up shacks
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| Stretched out far as I can see
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| Don’t walk down on me like that, buddy!
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| I’m telling you, it’s only work: it's just work for me
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| Now this old truck is getting tired
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| This old bank account is getting low
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| Don’t even own our old house-trailer in Fontana
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| So I gotta do this work, you know
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| Some of you may like baseball
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| Well I guess baseball’s alright with me
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| Someday there’ll be a big old ballpark here
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| Where your little old town used to be
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| Dirt roads, country shacks
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| Old dogs, and dry grass, dusty trees
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| This ain’t your world, tell ya, buddy
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| Sure ain’t my world
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| Just a job, a work: just work for me
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| Ni el mio tampoco
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| Solo un trabajo… trabajo para mi |