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Ten years after them
the yardbirds were cream of traffic
A hole in my shoe was like a small faces
knocking on heavens door in Itchycoo Park
while the wind was whispering Mary
in November rain, rain, rain
Midnite train to Georgia on my mind
was like a sound of silence
hence I was sitting on a dock of a Bay
listening to a River deep Mountain high cry
of proud Mary chevere
CCR-ing TurnER Tina to holiness

 

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