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In Memory |
© Michael Peter Smith

My second cousin works for me
We run the city dump you see
We are related distantly
To the Crumps of Tennessee

Drive a crooked highway to the outskirts of town, to
Crump's Dump, and lemme show you around
Pick up the pieces that lay on the ground
Teach you a lot if you don't put us down

We pass the evening quietly
My second cousin reads to me
Letters from a stack or three
That your lovers have thrown away

Drive a crooked highway to the outskirts of town, to
Crump's Dump, and lemme show you around
Pick up the pieces that lay on the ground
Teach you a lot if you don't put us down

It's love of the dump that makes men go sour
Love of the dump in the lateness of hour
Love of the heap the surrender of power
Love of the broken forever

Drive a crooked highway to the outskirts of town, to
Crump's Dump, and lemme show you around
Pick up the pieces that lay on the ground
Teach you a lot if you don't put us down


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