| Each night the dream began
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| We were sitting here, waiting on our coffee cans
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| Eyes fixed upon the skies
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| I was thinking of You, and if I qualified
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| Then when the trumpet blew
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| The reality hit, this wasn’t pay-per-view
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| My can lifted up and out
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| 'Til the siren wailed, and a megaphone shouted
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| Pull that bucket over
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| Let me see your registration
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| You’ll be questioned at the station
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| By a good cop, bad cop
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| If they find you guilty
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| They’ll impound your can in Hades
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| Where the grounded lads and ladies
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| Had it good 'til the last drop
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| I watched the others fly
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| On their coffee cans, as they waived goodbye
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| Freed from the earthly grind
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| They had escaped the roast, I’d been identified
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| Dream police nowhere to be found
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| I was left choking on the muddy grounds
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| I calmed down and reached for my Pez
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| But the head on the dispenser was Juan Valdez
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| Pull that bucket over
|
| Let me see your registration
|
| You’ll be questioned at the station
|
| By a good cop, bad cop
|
| If they find you guilty
|
| They’ll impound your can in Hades
|
| Where the grounded lads and ladies
|
| Had it good 'til the last drop
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| Tossing in my sleep again
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| The metaphor was wearing thin
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| 'Til my nightmare stretched it even more
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| Lord you placed the bitter cup
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| Against your lips, and drank it up To bring me where you are
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| I can’t believe I’ve wandered off this far
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| Woke up and smeeled the coffee
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| I don’t like what caffeine does to me God’s got a pull I’ve felt first hand
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| I’ve gotta stop believeing my coffee can
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| Pull that bucket over
|
| Let me see your registration
|
| You’ll be questioned at the station
|
| By a good cop, bad cop
|
| If they find you guilty
|
| They’ll impound your can in Hades
|
| Where the grounded lads and ladies
|
| Had it good 'til the last drop
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| Bad dream, but I understand
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| That you can’t get to Heaven on a coffee can |