| In the year of the yellow cab
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| Shadow of the great world war
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| The third kid grandmom had
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| Came into this world
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| On a rolling farm in Maryland
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| When Wilson was the president
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| As summer blew her goodbye through the trees
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| A child of changing times
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| Growing up between the wars
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| Fords rolled off the lines
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| And bars all closed their doors
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| And I imagine you back then
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| With snap brim hat and farmer’s tan
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| Where horses drew their wagons through the fields
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| Now the fields are all four lanes
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| And the moon’s not just a name
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| Are you more amazed at how things change
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| Or how they stay the same
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| And do you sit here on this porch and wonder
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| How the time flies by
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| Or does it seem to barely creep along
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| With 75 Septembers come and gone
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| Were the fields all gold and fawn
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| Was the spring house dark and cool
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| Did the rooster crow at dawn
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| When they got you up for school
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| And would you tell me once again
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| The tales of granddad’s hired men
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| And how they drove the old dirt road to town
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| Cause now the fields are all four lanes
|
| And the moon’s not just a name
|
| Are you more amazed at how things change
|
| Or how they stay the same
|
| And do you sit here on this porch and wonder
|
| How the times flies by
|
| Or does it seem to barely creep along
|
| With 75 Septembers come and gone
|
| In the year of the yellow cab
|
| Shadow of the great world war |