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troy_macclure's Journal

Footloose Flashdancer
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I was born and raised down in Alabama
On a farm way back up in the woods
I was so ragged the kids would call me patches
Papa used to kid me about it
Of course deep down inside
He was thinkin he had done all he could do
My papa was a great old man
I can see him with a shovel in his hand
See, education he never had
But he did wonders when the time got bad
A little money from the crops he raised
Barely paid the bills we made
Oh life had kicked him down to the plow
When he tried to get up life would kick him back down
One day papa called me to his dyin bed
Put his hands on my shoulders And in tears he said
Patches, I'm depending on you son
To pull the family through My son, it's all left up to you


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