| In a tiny tiny southern Swedish country town
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| two acres of field and a gas station
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| riding on my moped, looking for fun
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| staring into the blood red sun
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| on the country road is a boulevard
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| with neon lights and night open bars
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| in my jacket a pack of playing cards
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| just jacks, jokers, and the queen of hearts
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| my heart is beating, beating like Ringo
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| as I pull into the drive-in bingo
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| why do the people in the country wanna look like the people in the city?
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| when the people in the city aren’t the slightest pretty I want the people in the country to wear flannel shirts and saggy jeans all covered in dirt
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| I want the people in the country to be open and kind
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| but most times I’ve met those with a narrow mind
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| with a big black dog to bite your behind
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| if htey ever find out you’re not one of their kind
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| all these thoughts as I open up a zingo
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| Friday night at the drive-in bingo
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| so this is what they do out here for fun?
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| they play bingo and let their engines run?
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| tonight’s jackpot is a pig, hey that’s criminal!
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| G-42! |
| ooh, I’m going diagonal!
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| I’m gonna gather up a few of my friends
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| as many fits into an army tent
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| just bring our savings and a bottle of wine
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| to the Friday night’s reversal of time!
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| this little south-west village shouldn’t cost that much
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| maybe a handful of silver or a hundred bucks
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| we could have wild wild parties in that big old lodge and the windmill’s
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| perfect for movies and such
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| we could fake our deaths to get insurance money and take on hippie names
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| I’d be Snowphish, you’d be Sunny, we could start a little farm with little
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| white bunnies
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| just cause watching them copulate is very funny
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| there’s a cow and an ostrich just waiting for you!
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| a glass of apple cider just waiting for you!
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| the smell of 1952 just waiting for you!
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| and all I’m doing here is just waiting for you…
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| a daydream, I’m caught up in limbo
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| Friday night at the drive-in bingo |