| Little tramp comin' up the strip with a hundred dollar smile
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| Sparks flyin' off her fingertips, drive the young cop wild
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| Some nights are wound so tight like a storm about to break
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| Better stand in your doorway when everything starts to shake
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| You get restless like a cat waking up at midnight,
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| Hungry, never quite satisfied
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| This is our world and these are our times
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| This is our world and these are our times
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| Little brother like a street god with a drop dead attitude
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| Say he's looking like a shadow now, runnin' low on green and food
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| Some lives are wound up tight like a wave about to crash
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| Hard times seem to multiply while the joy runs out so fast
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| You get restless like a kid crawling out of a bad dream
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| Hungry, never quite satisfied
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| Make way for the son of a rebel wired to a bottle of flame
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| He's got two black eyes and a purple heart and a bone hangin' on a chain
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| These times are like dynamite, a head-on with history
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| Some fool's bound to burn it all down, don't care about you and me
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| He'll get desperate like a child in the eye of a nightmare
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| Hungry, never quite satisfied |