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“Are we farmers, Dad, or ranchers?”

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If departed old-time punchers returned, 

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When you hear the wind a moanin’, 

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If Eternity were a sea shore

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Maturity is a virtue,

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The hero of my childhood 

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In the drought back in the fifties, 

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Among farmers, ranchers and other folks who make their living in the great outdoors, there seems to be a universal ethic of early rising. There’s just nothing worse than being caught in bed past gettin’ up time.

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I ain’t plumb over the hill yet, 

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I’m not easy irritated,

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We have read and we have heard

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I think about it constantly 

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A cold front, spawned in Canada, 

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He quivers when you catch him.

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You’re not through unless you say you are,

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When you’re hindered in your journey, 

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Did you ever walk home from the picture show

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I never was too good a hand,at thinkin’ on my feet.I reach my mental apexwhen I’m on my fav’rit seat.You can’t match the freedom,the peace and sheer tranquilitythat you find here in solitudewhen you’re usin’ the facility.I approach this mornin’ ritualin a manner most methodical.I take a cup …

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The Extension boys say two percent

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My inspiration to write this ditty

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One of life’s more awesome chores

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When I was young, ambitious 

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There’s just no kind of luxury that’s as good as open space,and nothin’ can get older than too long in one place.Familiarity has bred contempt.Contentment is long gone.The other side looks greener.It’s time for movin’ on.All the folks who live ’round hereknow you way too well. Things are get…

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In judgin’ my own performance,