Sing a Song, Gene - Lead Sheet, Page 1 of 1: On a twelve hour trek, I've got the wheel in my grip. Hey, you can pray this car of ours can make the trip. Keep fingers crossed and then bite your lip till we've crossed that muddy Mississip. My lady and I, why, we were somewhere near crying, flying straight for the face of the sun. It burned us blind, but it did not mind whether doom or destiny were won. Entering Minneapolis, I thought of Jesus sending angels to save Silas and Saint Paul. I need my friends when the summer ends 'cause then's when I'm expecting a fall. We're strummin' on our steel strings and hummin' till someone sings a song to Minnesota's moon and stars. I say again, ''Our souls've always been more in tune than our foreign guitars.'' The end of the day, we're packin' Olys away and smokin' home-rolled gold cigarettes. Our minds expand into No Man's Land and the sweeter the music soon gets. Sing a song, Gene. Come on, sing a song. Your voice has gotten so strong. Sing a song, Gene. Sing some old song. I'll try to play along. Sing a song, Gene. Go on, sing your song. We're here where we all belong. Sing a song, Gene. Sing that old song. Your friends will sing along.


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