| It’s raining, it’s pouring
|
| This story’s getting oh so boring
|
| And what else did you expect?
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| When it rains, someone always gets wet
|
| So it’s searchlights
|
| Or the shadows
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| With a newscast like that, Dan, I’d rather the gallow
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| ‘Cause i ain’t seen a life vest in days
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| That ain’t strapped round the eyewitness men
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| Making dayjobs out of your dismay
|
| When the saints go marching into the streets
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| It’s too bad they won’t know how to swim
|
| It’s pouring
|
| It’s raining
|
| But from this couch it seems much more like entertaining
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| Oh, what the fuck’s wrong with me?
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| All these bodies float 'round my head, your town
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| And i still sleep so damned flawlessly
|
| When the saints go marching into the streets
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| I’ll be the one fast asleep
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| Too selfish to weep
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| If I could, yes I would, but it seems I can’t
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| I’m sorry
|
| When the revolution comes to this land
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| (Oh lord, I want to be in that number)
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| When we rich go out and stack those sandbags
|
| (I want to be in that number)
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| When we all have enough water to drink
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| (Please, please let me be in that number)
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| When our leaders learn to cry at our feet
|
| (I want to be in that number)
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| When the saints go marching in |