(Difford/Tilbrook)
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There¡¯s smoke in the hills
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And prints on the path
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The moon dangles down on the hyena¡¯s laugh
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And there are riders with guns by their sides
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The wagon train¡¯s full of women and hides
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The men drink and smoke to help pass the time
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Men have their thoughts and plans to decide
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And the dust brings the thirst to the mouths open wide
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The wagon train leaves the hills
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As the gold hits the fever
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The wagon train tips the scales
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Wagon train you can keep her
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There¡¯s gold in them hills
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It¡¯s treasure to claim
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A ghost in the hillside calls out my name
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In the wind a roar as the tumbleweed tumbles
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The rocks cast a shadow where the horses have stumbled
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And we light up a flame as the sky above rumbles
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Like the bellies that feast on a meal that is humble
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And the rain slashing down as I shave off my stubble
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There¡¯s arrows that fly
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As guns start to shoot
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There¡¯s mud in your eye and stones in your boot
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With wagons on fire and women left screaming
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Some left for dead and others left bleeding
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There¡¯s nothing left now and nothing worth keeping
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The treasure was trapped and sprung when in sleeping
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Not even the wind from the rocks is left breathing
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Wagon Train
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Squeeze |