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The banker came today and found Bobby ditching hay by the roadside.
He said, this paper in my hand says I will own this land in a few days.
Bobby's eyes fell to the ground, he kicked the dirt around in silence.
He watched the banker drive away, he knew he could not pay and it was over.
But you can take a man's gold, but you'll never own his soul.
The freedom of the soul lasts forever.
Bobby went to town, searching all around for a laborer.
He found Bo the old town drunk, sleeping in his bunk in the stable.
He said, you've only got one leg, but you won't have to beg if you help me.
You see I'm going to sink a well, I'll dig right down to hell if I have to.
But you can take a man's gold, but you'll never own his soul.
The freedom of the soul lasts forever.
Day and night they worked the well, they slept right where they fell in exhaustion.
There was magic in the air, and neither seemed to care what it could cost them.
They were awakened by a sound, a deep rumbling in the ground.
It felt as if an earthquake had begun.
Mother nature's precious crude, it bubbled and it spewed and exploded like a geyser in the sun.
Bobby went to town, the people gathered round to see him.
There was oil everywhere, in his eyes and in his hair, and he was glad.
And he took his oil-filled cap, and he dumped it in the lap of the banjo.