| Bored holes through our tongues
|
| To sing this song about it
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| Held our breath for too long
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| Till we’re half sick about it
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| Tell us what we did wrong
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| And you can blame us for it
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| Turn the clamp on our thumbs
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| We’ll sew a doll about it
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| And tell us all about it
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| We’ll sew a doll about it
|
| How about some credit now
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| Where credit is due
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| For the damage that we’ve done
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| We have wrought upon ourselves and others
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| With a slow and vicious gun
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| And although pratfalls can be fun
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| Encores can be fatal
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| And then I hear you say
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| Thank God it’s fatal, thank God it’s fatal, not shy
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| Not shy of fatal, not shy of fatal, thank God
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| Thank God it’s fatal, thank God it’s fatal, not shy
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| Not shy of fatal, not shy of fatal
|
| Wait just a second now
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| It’s not all that bad
|
| Are we not having fun?
|
| You’re making mountains of handkerchiefs
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| Where the mascara always runs
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| So be careful when you’re done
|
| You’re bound to get post-natal
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| What did I just hear you say?
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| Thank God it’s fatal
|
| No, we don’t want to hear the sound of a door
|
| No, we don’t want to hear the sound of a door
|
| And we don’t want to read the signs that you bore
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| You know the kind of sign you hang on a door
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| Saying, «we'll be back, what a crack»
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| Now don’t you think we might have heard that before?
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| Yeah, don’t you think we might have heard that before?
|
| Bored holes through our tongues
|
| To sing a song about it
|
| Held our breath for too long
|
| 'Til we’re half sick about it
|
| Tell us what we did wrong
|
| And you can blame us for it
|
| Turn the clamp on our thumbs
|
| We’ll sew a doll about it |