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My grandaddy was a fisherman |
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Lived on the water more than the land |
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He could tell the seasons by the turn of the tide |
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I grew up right by his side |
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He was a proud cajun and he worked real hard |
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The atchafalaya basin was his front yard |
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I can hear him saying with a tear in his eye |
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This used to be paradise |
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This used to be paradise |
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Brown pelicans and sac au lait |
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Big salty oysters and alligators |
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So many fish they would jump in your boat |
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Throw in a line and that's all she wrote |
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We had a little house on high ground |
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Cypress trees all around |
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Good living, peace and quiet |
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This used to be paradise |
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This used to be paradise |
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Then one day the oil man came |
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He gave us jobs and everything changed |
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We still run our boats and we drag our nets |
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But every day we get less and less and less |
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I guess you can't stop the way that time goes by |
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But I can't think of any reason why |
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They had to come and take our way of life |
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Now we don't know if we can even survive |
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They took the very land our house was on |
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And the shrimp and the pelicans, they're just hanging on |
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It's a damned shame to make an old man cry |
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This used to be paradise(x4) |
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My grandaddy was a fisherman |
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