| Strange raves on a Detroit beach
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| I was reaching for the rhythm but it’s out of reach
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| She was talking to the Buick
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| She was cutting her tequila with bleach
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| And she said to me There’s no such thing as an Egyptian cowboy
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| Your pretty haircut can’t help you now, boy
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| There’s nothing we can do for you
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| Unless you’re willing to kill
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| Hey, come on and kill
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| I think this city could have used a woman’s touch
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| As I’m wading through the toxic waste and such
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| 'Cause everybody here said I won’t amount to much
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| Everybody here said I won’t amount to much
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| When I go from point A to point B I want thrills and chills
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| And blood to spill
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| But there’s never any people on the people mover
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| Public transit equivalent of Herbert Hoover
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| You’re never gonna get anywhere
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| Because you’re standing still, standing still
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| These songs don’t write themselves
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| I’ve got a music workshop run by elves
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| Making dozens of records by the trends
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| Stocking our product on Ikea shelves
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| Let me state that
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| My state of mind, mind, mind
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| is just fine
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| Baby, that’s the sound of the years going by You can find me on the same bar stool just waiting to die
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| Three cheers to me, here’s mud in your eye
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| I said, «Cheers to me, here’s mud in your eye»
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| She came to close out my tab
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| So I was troubled and she took a stab
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| And she said to me There’s no such thing as an electric tuba
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| The Detroit River’s not a good place to scuba
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| The only reason you’re here today
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| Is 'cause we need you to kill
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| Yeah, kill
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| My songs are tasty pies
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| Fresh oven-baked and filled with lies
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| Gobbled up by the dozen by Neanderthal guys
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| Inhaling the aroma of Canadian lies
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| Oh my Why, you got quite a lot of problems, don’t you?
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| Shake that tambourine!
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| Shake that shaker machine!
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| Shake it, low
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| Shake it, high
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| Shake it Shake it |