| There’s a big fat man on a mechanical bull in slow motion like Debra Winger
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| And he gets knocked off and I think he’s hurt,
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| It’s a bitch facing facts and figures
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| There’s a band on stage that used to be huge
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| They sound on but no one’s listening
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| They’re told to turn down and they politely oblige
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| Ain’t no such thing as a free ride
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| It ain’t my problem and it ain’t my show and I ain’t being condescending
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| It’s just the opening slot and I hit my mark and split as the crowd is thinning
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| The man’s on the guest list so I guess it will be alright.
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| So the paramedics arrive and they haul off that Urban Bovine Kneivel
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| I see my friend and give him all my money and tell myself it’s a necessary evil
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| And it’s all such a fleeting thing so I’d best try and enjoy it
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| So much beauty and just enough time to figure out how to destroy it
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| I’m just the opening act
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| And it ain’t my crowd and it ain’t my night but I’d be lying if I said I can’t
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| relate
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| I’m just the opening act and the van is packed and I’m hauling ass to another
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| state
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| And I’m driving north as the sun was rising over a Technicolor horizon
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| I reached out to touch you but you’re not there, a thousand miles away from here
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| I turned up the radio; |
| heard some preacher talking salvation
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| My tank is half full and I reached over and changed the station
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| I’m just the opening act |