| I can see him now, standing on a street corner
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| Pastel shades and a candy stripe parallel
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| Good time love, oh that I’d been much older
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| Go messing with the boys from the incrowd
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| But all I could do was wish them farewell
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| What’s that strange music
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| What’s that fully rhythm
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| They call it Blue Beat, but you can call it young love
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| You can call it tamla dream
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| Down at your local Motown machine
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| I need to be loved
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| Down at your Twisted Wheel
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| And I can see that little stage
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| All the hands up in the air
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| Bombers and blues gonna see us through
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| Got my new lime suit mohair
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| With a single vent sixteen inch
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| Got my two-stroke wheels outside
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| We only need the High Numbers now
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| And anything on stateside
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| Down at your Twisted Wheel |