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You might think it's a one- horse town |
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No traffic lights, one roundabout |
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Beccy runs the corner shop |
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Shuts the door at five o'clock |
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You might think this town is dead |
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'Cause we ain't got no drive through yet |
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Our one garage don't open nights |
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Truckies they just roll on by |
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But down the road at The Grand Hotel |
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Saturday nights are as hot as hell |
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The band plays, cold beer flows |
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Stomp the floor and dance 'till close |
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Comes alive when the sun goes down |
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Country boys and girls get loud |
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Billy Rigg he owns The Grand |
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He's filled the fridge, he's booked the band |
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Six o'clock he preps the troops |
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Eight o'clock all hell breaks loose |
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It's four o'clock in the afternoon |
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Locals know what's coming soon |
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From the west there's a cloud of dust |
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They're coming in there comin fast |