| Old tin roof, leaves in the gutter
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| A hole in the screen door big as your fist
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| And flies on the butter
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| Mama baking sugar cookies, we were watching cartoons
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| I heard her holler from the kitchen
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| «Which one of you youngen’s wants to lick the spoon?»
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| Yellow jackets on the watermelon, honeysuckle in the air
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| Daddy turning on the sprinkler
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| Us kids running through it in our underwear
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| Old dog napping on the front porch, his ear just a twitching
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| Fell asleep on granddaddy’s lap
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| To the sound of his pocket watch ticking
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| Oh, oh, it doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago
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| Oh, oh, you can dream about it every now and then
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| But you can’t go home again
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| Me and my best friend Jenny set up a backyard camp
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| Stole one of mama’s mason jars
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| Poked holes in the lid and made a firefly lamp
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| Me and Billy Monroe, sneaking down by the river
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| I’m still haunted by the taste of the kiss
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| I was too scared to give him
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| Oh, oh, it doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago
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| Oh, oh, you can dream about it every now and then
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| But you can’t go home again
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| There’s a blacktop road, a faded yellow centerline
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| It can take you back to the place
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| But it can’t take you back in time
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| Oh, oh, it doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago
|
| Oh, oh, you can dream about it every now and then
|
| But you can’t go home again
|
| Old tin roof, leaves in the gutter
|
| A hole in the screen door big as your fist
|
| And flies on the butter |