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The Contrarian




The smell of grease coming off my leather hands Cut and cracked, worn like a working man's Oil and blood stained on my denim pants I'm so far away from those I know making a living off the land Small town rural living is dead and gone. While Nashville struggles to sing a decent country song Farm boys grew up and sought them city lights They say there's no more, no more money in the country sides But the contrarian swimming up stream, determined to define his legacy Looking around and all you feel is lost Living for the truth at any cost All that's left behind can stay, to sacrifice in search of a better way Hard drives, software and gigabytes compel a young man more than the quiet nights THey spend their money or save it on the internet. Well in times like these, that is not the way that I would bet, no Chorus

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