| Wiped out in the city slick
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| Another sick rock 'n' roller acting like a dick
|
| Needing cash
|
| Burning through the trash
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| That piles up in this place
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| And fills up behind my empty face
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| Full of things that I’m not to do
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| You come over with all of your friends
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| And all their opinions I don’t want to know
|
| And I’m looking over my shoulder
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| Booking away with nowhere to go
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| I run down to the corner lot
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| It’s forty-five past two
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| I almost forgot to show
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| Got a date to make with Mr. So-and-So
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| After which
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| I won’t care when you all start to bitch and moan
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| About being alone
|
| You come over with all of your friends
|
| And all their opinions I don’t want to know
|
| And I’m looking over my shoulder
|
| Booking away with nowhere to go
|
| Well, can’t you just leave me alone?
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| You’ve already thrown all the sticks and stones
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| You had to send my way
|
| Well, can’t you just leave it at that?
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| And spare us both the bother
|
| Because I just bounce back anyway
|
| I got nothing that I want to do more
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| Than make another sonic «fuck you» to play
|
| Whenever you make my life cliche
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| So to fit in some little box with the all the labeled shit
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| You would say to keep confusion away
|
| You come over with all of your friends
|
| And all their opinions I don’t want to know
|
| And I’m looking over my shoulder
|
| Booking away with nowhere to go
|
| You come over with all of your friends
|
| And all their opinions I don’t want to know
|
| And I’m looking over my shoulder
|
| Booking away |