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There is a young cowboy he lives on the range |
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His horse and his cattle are his only companions |
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He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons |
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Waiting for Summer, his pastures to change |
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And as the moon rises he sits by his fire |
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Thinking about women and glasses of beer |
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And closing his eyes as the dogies retire |
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He sings out a song which is soft but it's clear |
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As if maybe someone could hear |
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Goodnight you moonlight ladies |
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Rockabye sweet baby James |
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Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose |
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Won't you let me go down in my dreams |
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And rockabye sweet baby James |
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Now the first of December was covered with snow |
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And so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston |
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Lord, the Berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frosting |
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With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go |
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There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway |
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A song that they sing when they take to the sea |
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A song that they sing of their home in the sky |
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Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep |
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But singing works just fine for me |
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So, Goodnight you moonlight ladies |
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Rockabye sweet baby James |
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Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose |
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Won't you let me go down in my dreams |
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And rockabye sweet baby James |