| I was driving home in a Dodge Stratus
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| To the contaminated side of town
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| Where the shortwave radio playing songs of the century
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| And a big black cloud of asbestos
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| Was shadowing my demise
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| Where were you this morning, Little Randy?
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| Breakdancing in the food court by yourself
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| With the honor and your attitude
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| And your jeans full of prison food
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| There’s a police chalk outline where you last been seen
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| I was lacerated by my indiscretions
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| I was sanitized by the pinefresh smell
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| Of a damsel in stonewashed denim
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| The way that her sideways ponytail fell
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| Where were you this evening, Candy Apple Sweetheart?
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| Playing bass solos up on the sun
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| With your syntax in the post
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| And a clothes pin on your nose
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| And a septic tank full of all the stories you told
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| Well she called me up on a chainstore pay phone
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| She invited me up to a condo door
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| Way down in a neon park
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| To play lazer tag with her cousin, Rick
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| Where were you this morning, Blue Randy?
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| Doing capoeira up on the rooftop again
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| With your dry ice machine
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| And a fist full of creatine
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| There’s a police chalk outline where you last been seen
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| Now there’s a police chalk outline where you last been seen |