| Big stretch and not much sleep
|
| I got a couple of plam trees on each side of my cheek
|
| And it’s a bright blue Saturday
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| And the rummage sells the rubbish to me But if I could buy the sky that’s hangin'
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| Over this bed of mine
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| If I could climb these vines
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| And maybe see what you’re seein'
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| If you were standing on the corner staring straight
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| Into the eyes of Jesus Christ
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| One porch, one dog, one cockroach only way to be
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| I got sewage fruit and it’s growing out back from roots
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| I don’t know if they belong to me But if I could buy the sky that’s hangin'
|
| Over this bed of mine
|
| And if I could climb these vines
|
| and maybe see what you’re seein'
|
| Sittin’at the edge of this building,
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| Twenty stories below,
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| A’twenty stories below
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| Twenty stories below
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| Twenty stories below
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| I can’t tell you how many ways that I’ve sat,
|
| And viewed my life today, but I can tell you
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| I don’t think that I can find easier way
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| So if I see you walking hand in hand in hand
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| With a three armed man, you know I’ll understand
|
| (Pockets full of crappiness
|
| Can’t piece together my day
|
| So I pose myself this question
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| Maybe sleeps gonna get me in the shade
|
| I got my head buried in this pillow
|
| I got my head buried in this pillow
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| So low…)
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| But you should have been in my shoes yesterday
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| You should have been in my shoes yesterday |