| This old goat with beard of grey
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| He turns his leather gripped cane
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| Those times you clapped and called for quiet
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| They’ve come to hold you, ain’t that nice?
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| He packs a fat oom paul to
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| Jib and make home-baked perfume
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| Sips froth from soft, warm joe
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| Snug eiderdown bedclothes
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| You know, you know the way that I…
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| Come on you hermit
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| You never fight back
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| Why don’t you play with bows and arrows?
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| Why don’t you dance like
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| You’re sick in your mind?
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| Why don’t you set your wings on fire?
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| You slick back that wiry mane
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| A neat tucked slice
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| Deep trees sleep on the dank lawn
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| And scratch the slate
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| You finger down that waxen line
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| Between your breasts
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| A squeaky pain upon each breath
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| The plumbers left
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| You know the way that I feel
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| Come on you hermit
|
| You never fight back
|
| Why don’t you play with bows and arrows?
|
| Why don’t you dance like
|
| You’re sick in your mind?
|
| Why don’t you set your wings on fire?
|
| Come on you hermit
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| Why don’t you play nice?
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| Why don’t you toy with sex and violence?
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| Why don’t you stare back
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| Into my huge eye?
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| Why don’t you set my wings on fire? |