| You rode a fifteen year old boy straight to his grave
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| And the rest of us straight to hell
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| A whiskey bottle comforts me
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| And tells me not to cry
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| While a full moon says a prayer for me
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| I try to close my eyes
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| But the night’s there to remind me
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| Of the guns and the early graves
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| The ghosts appear as I fall asleep
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| To sing an outlaw’s serenade
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| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin'
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| When you’re livin' on the run
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| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young
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| Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
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| For the things that I have done?
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young
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| Oh, desert’s been a friend to me
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| It covers me by night
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| And a snakebite’s not my enemy
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| But it taught me how to fight
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| All this fame don’t bring you freedom
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| Though it wears a thin disguise
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| And an outlaw is just a man to me
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| And a man has to die
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| Oh, dyin' ain’t much of a livin'
 | 
| When you’re livin' on the run
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young
 | 
| Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
 | 
| For the things that I have done?
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young
 | 
| And I hope somebody will pray for me
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| When it’s my turn to die, pray for me
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin'
 | 
| When you’re livin' on the run
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young
 | 
| Is it too late to ask for forgiveness
 | 
| For the things that I have done?
 | 
| Dyin' ain’t much of a livin' for the young |