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E. Watson
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The Decemberists
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1
The air all painted pallid gray
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The storm was coming in
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Folks were lining out in all directions
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Me and Holt and Henry Short
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Were pitching on the skiff
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Trying to make it home before the night
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And the gray waves were rolling
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Bold the brave, brave ocean and rolled us suckers in
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Well I don't keep to goings on
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I tend to stick with kin
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But Watson had it in from the beginning
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He built that house on Chatham Bend
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A white-washed knotted pine
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Ninety acres furrowed for the cane
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And he drove it down from Georgia
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His dad a martyred soldier
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In the war between the states
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Lord, bring down the flood
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Wash away the blood
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And drown these everglades
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And put us in our place
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We laid Edgar Watson in his grave
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We laid him in his grave
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'Til I'm dust I'll never know
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Why he came ashore, with all those killers
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Gathered on the shoreline
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Kicking holes in ugly mud
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With trigger fingers pinched
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A brace of rifles, bristled in the wind
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And we towed his body northbound
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And buried him all face down with a good view into hell
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Lord, bring down the flood
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Wash away the blood
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And drown these Everglades
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And put us in our place
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We laid Edgar Watson in his grave
37
We laid him in his grave
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We laid him in his grave
39
We laid him in his grave
The Decemberists - "The Mariner's Reveng...
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