| New York City soothing my itchy itchy month of May
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| Time has passed for Ms. Onassis, decay on display
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| I don’t want to go down
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| I don’t want to go down
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| I don’t want to go down — like she did
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| And I can’t understand why something
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| good’s got to die before we miss it Mumbled talk through pigeon park
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| And Hastings is wasting away
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| religiously they seem to sin
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| Buy, sell or trade for amens
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| I just don’t want to feel
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| I just don’t want to feel
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| I just don’t want to feel — like they feel
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| Hollow body for sound, trade a coat for a gown
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| Way up in my arms you know
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| I love you just a little bit more
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| Raisin’nose down to chin
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| Smoke after smoke they all trickle in Anything, for anything, and ending up with nothing
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| Simple pimpled young man
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| Sores all over his hands
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| He’s sleeping, not so silently
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| I’ll mop the floors for you all
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| I’m a fly on the wall
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| Really big and listening
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| Burned a hand of a friend of mine
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| And Bub I know that you could fly a mile high
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| You told me nothing’s ever gonna come between
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| Nothing’s ever gonna come between
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| Nothing’s ever gonna come between
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| My dumptruck and me |