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Hold on, everybody. We're making a U-turn.
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All right!
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Ow! Gentle touch, Cynthia.
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A mother's gentle touch.
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I'm so sorry.
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You know, Dakota, when I braid Louise's hair,
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- I sing her a song. - Ah, yes, please.
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*Here goes the hair and there goes the hair *
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*And where is Harry Truman?*
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*He's dead in the ground, he's dead in the ground*
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*He's dead, dead, dead...*
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Well we switched bodies again,