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Usa A− / A+ para ajustar el tamañoFields Of Glory
Summer cotton, summer cornSummer hash marks and a scoreboardSummer, where they fought the civil warIt's what my grandpa saidPicking up brown heads that we found, orPicking up another first downTaking them girls to the edge of townAnd watching the sky turn redOn a blanket in a Chevy bedWe grew up on 'em, stirred up dust on 'emWe were tough on 'emWith our cleats and our retread tiresWe stayed out late on 'emWe went to state on 'emEvery blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand storiesFields of gloryFields of gloryShooting cans off a tree stumpCold beer buzzing with the June bugsSetting 'round talking like we knew whatWe were doing for the rest of our livesWe shine down lights on 'emThrew three stripes on 'emSaid our goodbyes on 'emOnce September came aroundWe had it made on 'emPart of us stayed on 'emEvery blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand storiesFields of gloryFields of gloryYou drop by and see a barbed-wire fenceI see boys turning into menI go back every now and thenAnd walk around and think of howWe grew up on 'em, stirred up dust on 'emWe were tough on 'emWith our cleats and our retread tiresWe stayed out late on 'emWe went to state on 'emEvery blade of that sacred ground's got a thousand storiesFields of gloryFields of gloryFields of gloryThey were our fields of glory
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