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I was in a place called Printer's Alley down in Nashville the other night
Mindin' everybody's business but my own
When along came a short sort of skinny little runt
The kind that looked plumb harmless to pick on

I commenced to conversation I said hi there you little runt
You know somethin' boy you sure look a fright
Knowing I could lick him I let him stand right there
Talk big ole me into a fight

First I took my big ole face and I smashed him in the fist
Then I hit him till my nose was just a wreck
Then I took my pretty head and I placed it in his hands
And I began to wring then with my neck

With my big ole mouth I bit him in the shoe
And till my dying day I don't know why
But from a prone position I looked right up at 'im
And I poked him in the finger with my eye

I put flesh marks on his teeth and reached up from out of the dust
And I asked him if he thought he'd had enough
Cause I thought it was fair to warn him that we'd better call it off
Before I really started gettin' rough

I didn't hear his answer I just sort of fell asleep
That I was unafraid was very plain
And if any of you other little fellas try to pick on me
Just watch it kid I'll give you the same

It's a sin to hit Big Ben hi there Charlie
I mean Mr Charlie how you doing its good to see you

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Ben Colder en Septiembre