| You know I have pointed at you and I
|
| I left, I left, because you really believed I was hurt
|
| Yes, you came running as if I deserved your time.
|
| All this time, all this time, all this time, all your time.
|
| I’m gonna cry, open the sky,
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| Because I know your black magic is a white lie.
|
| But with the sun, head on my gun
|
| No need to resort to violence if I don’t come, come.
|
| You don’t understand that I will take you where the wolf lies dead.
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| She not a wolf anymore,
|
| Why don’t you cry about it? |
| Much more tame, Tawny Kitaen,
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| Cry about it. |
| Write your name upon a white snake with a sharpie,
|
| Put a plus with a name right next to yours, malarky.
|
| But it isn’t so you etch it in a tree in hopes that everybody stumbles upon it
|
| when walking home
|
| See, want everybody to know you’re going steady like a plastic surgeon’s hand,
|
| Are you ready for the rice and confetti.
|
| Mixing it in with this rain, why don’t you cry about it?
|
| The augumented pleasure that goes with pain,
|
| Hocus pocus, aim sheer, good day, locomotive, train, all aboard again,
|
| Marty McFly Nike, party with five mic’s, electric chair ride going once or
|
| twice, lightning.
|
| For shock value the hal no longer happens, we mean it this time, let’s go,
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| Dorothy get them heels clackin'.
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| I took my time now to think about what I’ve become
|
| Don’t have to change me, look at this lady,
|
| Are you listening, can’t you hear me calling?
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| I need to know now.
|
| Photographic memory ruining boogie monster,
|
| I won’t forget the name no wimpering the true impostor.
|
| They wanna cry about it.
|
| Have you come running with a chandelier to put upon the neck, good will hunting.
|
| I heard that yelp, way before the critics chimed in at frequency only a dog
|
| could hear,
|
| So I climbed in.
|
| Smothered that wolf mother with a sad pillow
|
| 'till the cries of the lambs began to teeter on crescendo.
|
| Sad day when I got to use mass saving, skating round the issue while fencing,
|
| touché!
|
| To skill your sports, man, the search of the fox,
|
| My basset hound still basketville, sipping on scotch,
|
| The finer things in life we never cry about.
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| Only watch, listen and learn,
|
| I bet on horse number seven, was seven in line, give it a go,
|
| Gentle woman no fibs or we’ll be forced to focus on
|
| Thugging like libbin Freddy Gibbs.
|
| I’m gonna cry, open the sky,
|
| Because I know your black magic is a white lie.
|
| But with the sun, head on my gun
|
| No need to resort to violence if I don’t come, come.
|
| You don’t understand that I will take you where the wolf lies dead. |