| My daddy called me on a Friday morning
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| So sad to tell me just what you’d done
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| You tried so hard to make us all hate you
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| But I think you was the only one
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| Sick, tired, pissed and wired
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| You never thought about anyone else
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| You tried in vain to find something to kill you
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| In the end you had to do it yourself
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| Who’s to blame for the loveless marriage?
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| Who’s to blame for the broken band?
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| You ran from life and all its pleasures
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| Your own teeth marks in your own damned hand
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| Thrown out before the date’s expired
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| You’d rather die than let anyone help
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| You’d rather die than take a stab at living
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| Nothing would kill you so you do it yourself
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| Everyone has those times when the night’s so long
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| The dead-end life just stares you down
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| You lean back under the microphone
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| And turn your demons into walls of goddamned noise and sound
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| And it’s a sorry thing to do to your sweet sister
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| A sorry thing to do to your little boy
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| A sorry thing to do to the folks who loved you
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| Your momma and daddy lost their only boy
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| And some might say I should cut you slack
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| But you worked so hard at unhappiness
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| Living too hard just couldn’t kill you
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| So in the end you had to do it yourself
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| Living too hard just couldn’t kill you
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| So in the end you had to do it yourself |