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Whining Back in the folk era I tried to play guitar I’d beat strings into submission Whining I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s Faaaarm no more My friends spent endless hours Perfecting their finger-picking To Puff The Magic Dragon “American Primitive” I laughed When they asked what in the hell I was doing. Now I read poets, Meticulous and flowing Beautifully descriptive phrases I can only dream of I sit here whining About growing up on my father’s farm Trying to beat words into submission. Wondering What in the hell I’m doing. |
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