(Bob Hoffnar/Dan Messe)
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Old Adam the crow
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He's building a home in your field
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Where bitter weeds grow all around the corn
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Will you be the father
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That drives the thief from your home
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Or let him run wild at your first born
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Now I carried the plow
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To carve out a home in this world
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And I carried the bow to protect the corn
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Summer is over
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My hands are tired and slow
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And I can't stop loving my first born
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Old Adam the crow
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He's flying away from your field
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And you will never know what makes him run
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I dreamed of my father
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Who drove me out of his home
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Old Adam
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Hem |