| I was following a girl, a Canadian girl
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| on a great American trip
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| She was thumpin’the bass in an improv group
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| on their way to bein’hip
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| After a few nights on the bus
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| while we stopped to get some fuel
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| Her head got small and her rage got big
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| and she challenged me to a duel
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| In a truck stop there on the aisle
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| where they sell those day glo hats
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| I took up with a girl who had
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| eyes like an alley cat
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| She took me home, it was her husbands home
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| before that awful Factory Fire
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| But the Dead man came around that night
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| and proved the alley cat a liar
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| I gotta grow up I gotta go to work
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| quit countin’on luck
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| even if it hurts
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| I gotta grow up I gotta go to work
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| Even if it hurts
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| I gotta grow up I moved out to the coast
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| the western coast
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| And met an Eastern girl
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| She was a big shot in the
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| picture Biz
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| she wore Black clothes and pearls
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| She loved what happened behind
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| closed doors
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| then she locked me out
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| in the cold
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| And said guys like me are
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| something called a genre
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| That’s really getting old
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| I gotta grow up I gotta go to work
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| quit countin’on luck
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| even if it hurts
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| I gotta grow up I gotta go to work
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| Even if it hurts
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| I gotta grow up |