You rolled out of Rosine, a dedicated man.
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You drove those country back roads to a thousand one-night stands.
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The music from your mandolin, spread like wildfire in the wind,
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And echoed through the hollows and the hills, so tell me, Bill:
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Did it look like gold Kentucky when the gates swung open wide?
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Bet the good Lord¡¯s got you playin¡¯ somewhere up there every night.
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Instrumental break.
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I heard you on the Opry when I was just a kid.
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I tried my best to learn to sing and play the way you did.
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Just like me, the day you died, the guitars and the fiddles cried.
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The music ain¡¯t the same without you, Bill; we miss you still.
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Did it look like gold Kentucky when the gates swung open wide?
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Bet the good Lord¡¯s got you playin¡¯ somewhere up there every night.
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Instrumental break.
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Just like me, the day you died, the guitars and the fiddles cried.
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The music ain¡¯t the same without you, Bill; we miss you still.
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Did it look like gold Kentucky when the gates swung open wide?
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Bet the good Lord¡¯s got you playin¡¯ somewhere up there every night.
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Is the grass any bluer on the other side?
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Is The Grass Any Bluer
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Rhonda Vincent |