| If I ball my heart, my soul
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| It doesn’t mean my work will sell
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| But breakthroughs in modern science
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| Means that I can keep quite well
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| When my itch is fresh and oozing
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| Oh I can sit around for hours in a day
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| Holy are ghosts, and girls from high school
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| My phantom vibrations
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| And the sweet believing superstitious
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| Versions of myself
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| I never got to say goodbye
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| Never got to say goodbye
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| I like to watch you play
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| And dick around with your cameras babe
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| Like a song through the charts
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| Or the fat through your heart, thought I was moving on up
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| Bye bye
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| Yeah |