| In the land of grey and pink where only boy-scouts stop to think
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| They’ll be coming back again, those nasty grumbly grimblies
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| And they’re climbing down your chimney, yes they’re trying to get in
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| Come to take your money — isn’t it a sin, they’re so thin
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| They’ve black buckets in the sky, don’t leave your dad in the rain
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| Cigarettes burn bright tonight, they’ll all get washed down the drain
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| So we’ll sail away for just one day to the land where the punk weed grows
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| You won’t need any money, just fingers and your toes
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| And when it’s dark our boat will park on a land of warm and green
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| Pick our fill of punk weed and smoke it till we bleed, that’s all we’ll need
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| While sailing back in morning light, we’ll wash our teeth in the sea
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| And when the day gets really bright, we’ll go to sea drinking tea
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| So we’ll sail away for just one day to the land where the punk weed grows
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| You won’t need any money, just fingers and your toes
|
| And when it’s dark our boat will park on a land of warm and green
|
| Pick our fill of punk weed and smoke it till we bleed, that’s all we’ll need
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| They’ve black buckets in the sky, don’t leave your dad in the rain
|
| Cigarettes burn bright tonight, they’ll all get washed down the drain |