| Must I commit my tragic youth to history
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| Am I not still to recall when I need
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| In my lonely hours they wonder like a vicious mystery
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| Can I rewrite the tale that often makes me travel blindly
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| My younger years were often spent in silence
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| Lest my wooden friends felt estranged
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| We entangled ourselves in thoughts of freedom’s violence
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| And bottled the brew of our strangest thoughts, deranged
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| Delinquent little darlings we were not
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| We said the right things to keep us all off
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| The hook that don’t exist no more
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| Soon you will be called for the unknowing
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| Nobody will miss you when you’re gone
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| You may come back a shell of your former self
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| But obedient you will become with love
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| Delinquent little darlings we were not
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| We said the right things to get us all off
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| The hook that don’t exist no more
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| B.B gets what he wants
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| When he needs what he wants
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| What he feeds us all from
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| Don’t bite that hand of Zion
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| Come come come come come comrades
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| Our Big Brother loves us much
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| Come come come come come comrades
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| Our Big Brother loves us much more than those
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| Old fashioned mothers
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| Delinquent little darlings we were not
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| We said the right things to get us all off
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| The hook that don’t exist no more
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| Cause B. B gets what he wants
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| When he needs what he wants
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| What he feeds us all from
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| Don’t bite that hand of Zion
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| The lions den
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| Bionic Zionic men |