| When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez
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| And it’s Eastertime too
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| And your gravity fails
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| And negativity don’t pull you through
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| Don’t put on any airs
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| When you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue
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| They got some hungry women there
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| And they really make a mess outa you.
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| Now if you see Saint Annie
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| Please tell her thanks a lot
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| I cannot move
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| My fingers are all in a knot
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| I don’t have the strength
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| To get up and take another shot
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| And my best friend, my doctor
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| Won’t even say what it is I’ve got.
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| Sweet Melinda
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| The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
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| She speaks good English
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| And she invites you up into her room
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| And you’re so kind
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| And careful not to go to her too soon
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| And she takes your voice
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| And leaves you howling at the moon.
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| Up on Housing Project Hill
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| It’s either fortune or fame
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| You must pick up one or the other
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| Though neither of them are to be what they claim
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| If you’re lookin' to get silly
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| You better go back to from where you came
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| Because the cops don’t need you
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| And man they expect the same.
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| Now all the authorities
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| They just stand around and boast
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| How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
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| Into leaving his post
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| And picking up Angel who
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| Just arrived here from the coast
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| Who looked so fine at first
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| But left looking just like a ghost.
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| I started out on burgundy
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| But soon hit the harder stuff
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| Everybody said they’d stand behind me When the game got rough
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| But the joke was on me There was nobody even there to bluff
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| I’m going back to New York City
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| I do believe I’ve had enough. |