| The place where fables are found
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| Grimy roads replace the yellow bricks
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| Paved on the ground
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| (How many of them stay here?)
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| I’m unable to count
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| Because labelled as outcasts
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| They stay underground
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| (They keep themselves to themselves)
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| Invisible among these mundies
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| (They use a spell to repel)
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| Every community needs a way to keep in order
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| (Someone to police the place)
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| A sort of senior lawman
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| Formerly the Big Bad Wolf
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| They call him Bigby
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| (Went from eating kids to drinking neat whisky)
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| When lying alone at night
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| I don’t quite know why
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| He’s got the hots for Snow White
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| (I know, right?)
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| All it took to hook him long ago
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| Was a lone bite
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| It was so wrong (Yet so right)
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| In Fabletown they face a daily struggle
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| To escape the place they came from
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| And the range of ways
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| That they can raise up trouble
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| (Dark forces want to see this place
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| Razed to rubble but Bigby’s a razor blade
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| Erasing any trace of stubble)
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| Perhaps one too many close shaves
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| Check the mirror, see things a little clearer
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| The answer’s getting nearer
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| He needs to keep his fellow fables
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| Out of harm’s way
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| Be they in Bullfinch Street
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| Or at the farm, hey
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| Stop crying over spilt milk
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| (Pick up the dairy pail)
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| And dig up the truth
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| That’s hidden underneath this fairy tale
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| You better beware, for there’s a wolf among us
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| But the truth is the food for which he hungers |