| Tim, he had a way
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| Of reeling people in
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| In a crowded bar
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| It was just you and Tim
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| Tim he knew the drill
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| He’d been around the block
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| With his bass guitar
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| He’d rock
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| He had this calling card
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| That Charles & Andrew printed up
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| «Let God sort 'em out,» that’s what it said
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| Let Tim fill up your cup
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| Tim he moved away
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| Trying to keep the country cool
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| Toronto needed work
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| He took that town to school
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| (It was a form of public service)
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| It was there he met his love
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| A gal he’d known for years
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| When she said his name
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| Tim, he was all ears
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| He was not as tall
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| As our other Tim
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| Miniature, not small
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| Chuck, he nicknamed him
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| When Tim was holding court
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| H was not quick to judge
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| He knew w’d make mistakes
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| Everybody does
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| We’d talk about baseball
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| Jim Thompson and Revolution Rock
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| We’d talk about anything at all
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| Man, we would talk
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| But sometimes when he spoke
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| He was just blowing smoke
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| And that was alright
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| Tim was in a band
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| We used to share a space
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| When my patch cords went missing
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| I’d find them in his case
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| Then somebody stole his bass
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| Out the back of the Marquee
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| If that prick is playing gigs
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| He’d better play for free
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| Play for free, play for free
|
| Tim, he gave a shit
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| Except when he did not
|
| He called it like he saw it
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| And damn, he saw a lot
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| Oh we miss you Tim
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| Yeah, we miss you Tim
|
| Hey brother, I’m with him
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| I’m hanging here with Tim
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| Oh we miss you Tim
|
| Yeah, we miss you Tim
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| Babe, leave on a light
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| I’ll be home late tonight
|
| I’m catching up with Tim
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| I’d meet him at the Swan
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| Every time I’d hit The Smoke
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| Now both of them are gone
|
| This ain’t a funny joke
|
| Oh we miss you Tim
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| Yeah, we miss you Tim
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| Tim, Tim
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| Tim, Tim
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| A rock & roll heart parts the clouds
|
| Lights the dark, carving a path
|
| It’s ragged, but right you are
|
| From the sweet mess of youth
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| To the old Double Deuce
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| Where the Angels would sit
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| Most nights at the bar
|
| The cut got the press
|
| But you’d rather see the scar
|
| A smoke or a drink
|
| Never far out of hand
|
| Forget the lead singer
|
| Let’s talk ‘bout the band
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| Nowhere to go but up
|
| So we’ll start in the pub
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| And end in the clouds
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| And to call you a friend
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| Makes me proud |