| Dave lives in a cave under a hill
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| A little way from the sea
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| Two cups of tea
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| And rashers for breakfast, well done
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| Works until one, no need to run
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| Just what he needs to live
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| Head like a sieve
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| Still you can’t call him a slave
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| And you and me just keep on
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| Rushing round the world
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| To chase the perfect crime
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| Could it be that while we’re
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| Rushing round the world
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| We’re wasting all our time
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| Dave watches the waves
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| They come and go, so he don’t have to
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| Why reach for the sky
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| He got a job once in Spain, away from the rain
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| Got on a train
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| Turned around, came right back, on the same track
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| Why doesn’t he just behave
|
| And you and me just keep on
|
| Rushing round the world
|
| To chase the perfect crime
|
| Could it be that while we’re
|
| Rushing round the world
|
| We’re wasting all our time
|
| Dave lies in his grave
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| Under the hill, somebody took his place
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| With the same face
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| Whistles the same tone-deaf tune
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| Works until noon, howls at the moon
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| Maybe he’ll call in sick
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| Head like a brick
|
| Says you can just call him Dave
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| And you and me just keep on
|
| Rushing round the world
|
| To chase the perfect crime
|
| Could it be that while we’re
|
| Rushing round the world
|
| We’re wasting all our time
|
| Wasting all our time
|
| Wasting all our time
|
| Wasting all our time
|
| Wasting all our time |