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I got two dollars and fifty-one cents eighteen matches, a lighter, two pens and a beat up copy of Cannery Row five hundred miles left to go everywhere I go I'm looking down watching my old tennis shoes as they're wearing out walking off these homesick blues I may be drunk and lost but I'm not confused and I know where this train is slowly going north through K-Falls then on to Portland I know I'm fucked up, it's stupid hoping you'll answer phone calls, goodbye to Oakland From Letras Mania