| When your life is a valise
|
| And you’re packing only dirty shirts
|
| And you compromise you mother’s eyes
|
| To tranquilize your trigger finger itch
|
| Well I swear I’d rather clean the cages at the zoo
|
| Than to change my songs for you
|
| When you struggle for the lights
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| And the phone becomes your bedtime mate
|
| And you find yourself with a bloody tongue
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| Talking to the people that you hate
|
| Well I swear I’d rather clean the cages at the zoo
|
| Than to change my songs for you
|
| Than to change my songs for you
|
| Than to change my songs for you
|
| I am nothing but some red ink or some black
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| I’m demotion or a second Cadillac
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| When you sell out all your rights
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| For a chance to be immortalized
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| And you duck your friends from Julliard
|
| Oh my God how much more can you take
|
| Well I swear I’d rather clean the cages at the zoo
|
| Than to change my songs for you |