| Back in the summer of '91
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| An angel with a lizard’s tongue
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| Was scheming for a holy broken nose
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| Linked to every class of men
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| Sprung out from the sparkling sins
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| Leaning on the cold electric stove
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| On a country road I swerved to the side
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| Trying to avoid a country bumpkin
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| Everyone’s in line to meet with the man
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| Who blatantly inspired his generation
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| When they shake his hand and their fingers explode
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| Breaking both our necks by the tips of our toes
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| Then they turn to me, cause you died I suppose
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| But I can’t seem to glance fast enough to be sure
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| Back to summer days, cold hands on the beach
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| Memories of thrills designed to please you
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| Down the fragrant path I strayed towards the bath
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| Suddenly I lived to learn to feed you
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| Down on bended knee, where I’ve been for a while
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| Set the record straight in the old fashioned style
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| Never took too much, though I should have made more
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| You are still my friend, though you were not before |