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Potters Field

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Chorus Potter's Field,where the poor folks's go No fancy stones,will it show and when death comes,and I must yield Just let me rest,in Potter's field Then one Sunday morning came the phone call My mamma lay on her death bed She gathered all the children around her So they'd hear exactly what she said My children you know that we have money And I could have the finest plot of ground But I'd rather lie beside your father In Potters field,just outside of town Repeat Chorus
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