| Your mama can’t stand the way
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| You lay around all day
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| And lean on her to help you on your way
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| You use her credit cards
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| Complain 'cause it’s so hard
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| To live with all the whiteness you’ve obtained
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| So you pack up all your things
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| And cut those apron strings
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| And set out for a drastic change of scene
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| You hump it town to town
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| And never let them down
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| Or take the time to ponder what it means
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| You climb up to the roof to smoke a few
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| To calm down from your day and soak the view
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| And you wonder what the hell you’re gonna do
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| To hang on
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| It isn’t any wonder
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| When the darkness pulls you under
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| From the weight of all your wonderment
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| And the price you have to pay
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| Leaves you feeling kinda sickly
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| And it all comes due so quickly
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| It’s hard to get out
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| From under it
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| The night it grows so long
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| But you put it in a song
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| That suddenly the whole world wants to sing
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| So you move to higher ground
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| And set some deep roots down
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| And try to keep your grip on everything
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| Sometimes in the silence of the night
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| That voice might try to tell you it’s not right
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| So you close your eyes, and try with all your might
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| To hang on |