| Sometimes late when things are real
|
| And people share the gift of gab between themselves
|
| Some are quick to take the bait
|
| And catch the perfect prize that waits among the shells
|
| But Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
|
| That he didn’t, didn’t already have
|
| And Cause never was the reason for the evening
|
| Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
|
| So please believe in me
|
| When I say I’m spinning round, round, round, round
|
| Smoke glass stain bright color
|
| Image going down, down, down, down
|
| Soapsuds green like bubbles
|
| Oh, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
|
| That he didn’t, didn’t already have
|
| And Cause never was the reason for the evening
|
| Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
|
| So please believe in me
|
| When I say I’m spinning round, round, round, round
|
| Smoke glass stain bright color
|
| Image going down, down, down, down
|
| Soapsuds green like bubbles
|
| No, Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man
|
| That he didn’t, didn’t already have
|
| And Cause never was the reason for the evening
|
| Or the tropic of Sir Galahad
|
| So please believe in me |