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As I sit here at the barWhile she plays her new guitarI wonder how she’ll leave this placeHer purse is surely full of maceShe looks at me, and she does sayCan I play your song todayI think it sorta goes likes thisJust give me time to reminisceHer voice is sharp and crystal clearThe kind you really want to hearAnd when that gal begins to wailShe sounds just like a nightingaleShe packs the place on Monday nightShe spurs the crowd with sheer delightAnd she really has a lookThat you can’t find, in no bookAs we dance around those barroom matsWe hold onto our cowboy hatsThere’s really nothing more to sayThat girl can make you want to stay
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