| He was selling postcards from a paper stand
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| a whiskey bottle in his withered hand
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| he put a finger on a photo from an old magazine
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| and saw himself in the shadow of his dream
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| They found him with his head inside a tin-pot crown
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| told him his feet stank and took him downtown
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| called him agitator, spy and thief
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| shut him up in solitary third degree
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| take a long line x3
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| reel him in
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| He tried to appeal to the king of might
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| he said «I'm just excercising my sacred right»
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| the king he said «You ain’t got no rights
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| you’re a madman, a traitor, get outta my sight»
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| take along line x3
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| reel him in
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| (guitar solo)
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| They found him with his head inside a tin-pot crown
|
| told him his feet stank and took him downtown
|
| called him agitator, spy and thief
|
| shut him up in solitary third degree
|
| They put him aboard a well wound whirlwind
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| pulled out his teeth and rold him to grin
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| he gave them a smile, pulled out a bottle of wine
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| and said «I never existed, you’ve been wasting your time»
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| take a long line x3
|
| reel him in
|
| take a long line x3
|
| reel him in
|
| take a long line
|
| take a long line
|
| take a long long long long line
|
| reel him in |