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Home On The Rang |
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- Silver Spurs |
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Oh, give me a home, |
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where the buffalo roam, |
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Where the deer and the antelope play, |
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Where seldom is heard |
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a discouraging word, |
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And the skies are not cloudy all day. |
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Home, home on the range, |
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Where the deer and the antelope play, |
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Where seldom is heard |
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a discouraging word, |
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And the skies are not cloudy all day. |
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Where the air is so pure, |
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the zephyrs so free, |
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The breezes so balmy and light, |
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That I would not exchange |
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my home on the range |
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For all the cities so bright. |
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Oh, give me a land |
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where the bright diamond sand |
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Flows leisurely down the stream; |
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Where the graceful white swan |
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goes gliding along |
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Like a maid in a heavenly dream. |
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Home, home on the range, |
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Where the deer and the antelope play; |
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Where seldom is heard |
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a discouraging word, |
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And the skies are not cloudy all day. |
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How often at night |
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when the heavens are bright |
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With the light of the glittering stars, |
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Have I stood here amazed |
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and asked as I gazed |
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If their glory exceeds that of ours. |
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Home, home on the range, |
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Where the deer and the antelope play; |
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Where seldom is heard |
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a discouraging word, |
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And the skies are not cloudy all day. |