| We started drinking the Kool-Aid
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| We were taking the bait
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| We were talking the big talk
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| Never playing it safe
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| Looking good as Jane Fonda
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| On a Vietnam tank
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| Can’t get something for nothing
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| Have to energize your base
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| But she was young enough
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| She was blonde enough
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| She was 'bout a perfect ten
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| Had millions of admirers but not a single friend
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| And it’s a, it’s a little uncanny what she managed to do
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| Become a symbol for a pain she never knew
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| You know old Ronnie Reagan
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| He was a shoe salesman’s son
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| He got himself in the movies
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| He impressed everyone
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| He thought trial by fire
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| Was America’s fate
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| He made a joke of the poor people
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| And that made him a saint
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| But he was tan enough, he was rich enough
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| He was handsome like John Wayne
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| And there was no one at the country club
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| Who didn’t feel the same
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| But it’s a, it’s a little uncanny
|
| What he managed to do
|
| Got me to read those Russian authors through and through
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| I miss Christopher Hitchens
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| I miss Oliver Sacks
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| I miss poor Robin Williams
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| I miss Sylvia Plath
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| Every morning’s a desert
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| Every night is a flood
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| They say a party can kill you
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| Well sometimes I wish it would
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| But I’ll get strong enough, I’ll be man enough
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| To keep myself in check
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| 'Cause all my friends that flew to town
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| Said that’s what they expect
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| But it’s a, it’s a little uncanny
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| What they managed to do
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| Made me admit to things I knew were never true |