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Does what I don't know astound them, All those things I've not heard of, So they think I might Not be that bright, Or miiss something I might love? Will I ever dare to show them That what fits me like a glove I learned on a beach From a Southern peach And not from someone above? All those questions I get ev'rywhere That are followed by embarrassing dead air Indicate your Bushie Baby Had better say a prayer That the weight upon my shoulders Is not the former love I had for grass And the cocktail glass That they thought I'd got rid of.
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