Rose In Paradise by Chris Young
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She was a flower for the takin', her beauty cut just like a knife
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And he was a banker from Macon, he swore to love her all his life
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He bought her a mansion on a mountain, with a formal garden and a lot a land
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But paradise became her prison, that Georgia banker was a jealous man
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Every time he'd talk a-bout her, you could see the fire in his eyes
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He'd say, "I would walk through Hell on Sunday, to keep my Rose in Paradise"
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He hired a man to tend the garden, and keep an eye on her while he was gone
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Some say they ran away together, some say that gardener left alone
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Now the banker is an old man, and the mansion's crumblin' down
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He sits all day and stares at the garden, not a trace of her was ever found
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Every time he'd talk a-bout her, you could see the fire in his eyes
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He'd say, "I would walk through Hell on Sunday, to keep my Rose in Paradise"
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Now there's a rose out in the garden, its beauty cuts just like a knife
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They say it even grows in the winter time, and blooms in the dead of the night
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