| He’s the little pretzel man, he’s got his twisted pretzel hands
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| He’s got his a pretzel wife, that he’s loved all his pretzel life
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| And he’s got himself a pretzel girl, that they both brought into their world
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| And watch them all twist pretzels by hand, by hand
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| And if only we all lived in Pretzel Land
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| Six days a week, when he wakes up
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| She will fill his coffee cup
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| Six days a week he is a working man
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| He wheels his wagon to the park
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| He sells pretzels 'till it’s dark
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| But that’s the only life that he understands
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| He’s his own man
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| He’s the little pretzel man, he’s got his twisted pretzel hands
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| He’s got that pretzel wife, that he’s loved all his pretzel life
|
| And he’s got himself a pretzel girl, that they both brought into their world
|
| But watch them all twist pretzels by hand, by hand
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| And if only we all lived in Pretzel Land
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| On Sunday, when they go to church
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| In the seventh pew they perch
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| They listen to his sermon and they believe
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| They’re grateful for the food they ate
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| So they put their money in a plate
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| They’ve heard of hungry children and they grieve (they believe)
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| So we watch them all twist pretzels by hand, by hand
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| And if only we all lived in Pretzel Land
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| If only we could all be like that man
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| If only we all lived in Pretzel, only we all lived in Pretzel, only we all
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| lived in Pretzel… Land |