Well baby did you hear me say I'm leaving?
Though I hope that we might meet again some day.
So before we go and head our own directions,
There's just one thing I thought I'd go and say.
Ch; I was raised on cowboy songs and John Wayne movies,
Ballads about the crossing of the sea.
So babe when you go your way, I'll be going mine,
But sometimes, won't you think of me?
I'm nothing but the poor son of an immigrant,
And the poor son of a gypsy maid.
So maybe baby that's why I get to going,
Every time a woman starts asking me to stay.
Now a life out on the road well it ain't easy,
Ain't no cake walk, ain't no cup of tea.
But I've seen my share of places with no money, honey,
And sometime I even eat my meals for free.
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