| Here they come, shaking in their boots
|
| They’ll be skipping stones with your bones
|
| When these ants know
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| Where to find you
|
| And steal all your thunder
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| The windows will shutter
|
| And i’ll wear a tie
|
| Were you shaking in your boots?
|
| Did it scare you half to death
|
| When you saw the falling arrows?
|
| Won’t that be a sight?
|
| Here they come, attached at the hip
|
| Swallowing swords when they soar
|
| Now my clones know
|
| Where to find you
|
| Your bread and your butter
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| Your dim flying colors
|
| Will both pick a side
|
| And i’ll wear a tie
|
| Were you shaking in your boots?
|
| Did it scare you half to death
|
| When you saw the falling arrows?
|
| Did you stop dead in your tracks?
|
| Or join the whole stampede, just to keep from spilling over?
|
| Won’t that be a sight? |