| There were twenty, maybe, twenty-five of us
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| Drivin' out to California in a bus
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| We were looking for a good time
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| And a radio station we could trust
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| Suddenly we heard an angry thud
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| And our mighty chariot turned into a dud
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| We were stopped there in our tracks, man
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| Adjacent to some cows chewing their cud
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| Lord, please send some mercy down to me
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| 50 miles south of Bowling Green…
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| This will clearly never be my scene
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| Why does every city start with 'C'?
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| There’s only one sure thing that I know
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| I’ve got to get out of Ohio!
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| 'Til then I’ll never feel love
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| They say that what you give is what you’re gonna get
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| It’s no wonder everything’s gone to shit
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| Because they’ve given us John Boehner
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| You better believe they’ve given us Jean Schmidt!
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| And the floodgates of hell have opened wide
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| It’s better to get all politics aside
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| They’re gonna roll out Joe the Plumber
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| Just to make sure our minds get properly fried
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| Lord, be merciful and let me die
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| 50 miles south of Lodi
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| Round on both ends and the middle’s high
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| What’s so great about a buckeye?
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| Whose might is riptide and undertow
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| There’s no escaping from Ohio
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| I’ll never get to feel love
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| Hey
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| The walls they are closing in
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| But I’m just in sight of Michigan
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| The only way that I’ll obtain ya
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| Is if I get over to Pennsylvania
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| Except for GBV, and DEVO
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| Nothing seems to redeem Ohio
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| It is the state that killed my love
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| Hey!
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| Don’t you want to come with me
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| Hey!
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| And make a break for Kentucky
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| Hey!
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| I still got something to put in ya
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| Hey!
|
| But we’ll have to go to West Virginia
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| And I’ve heard great things about Indiana, too |