| The ship of fools is coming in
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| Take me off I’ve got to eat
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| Same old stories same old thing
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| Letting out and pulling in
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| Mister, there’s a caravan parked out back
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| Restless hoping for a christian rider
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| The black book, a grappling hook
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| A hangman’s noose on a burnt out tree
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| Guess we must be getting close to tombstone
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| The last time we had eaten
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| Was when the flies were going for free
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| You could count the hardships by the open doors
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| But sandwiched in between
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| Were the fishermen who still
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| Wished they could sail from tenessee to arizona
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| So hold on, won’t be long
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| The call is on the line
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| Hold on, sister’s gone
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| South to give the sign
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| We picked up dracula in memphis
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| It was just about the break of day
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| And then hastily prayed for out souls to be saved
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| There was something in the air that made us kind of weary
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| By the time we got to swansea it was getting dark
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| Tumble, jungles, bugles and the prize
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| The tides turned west at amerforth
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| As if they didn’t know what to do
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| But garnant stood it’s ground and asked for more
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| All the people seemed quite glad to see us
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| Shaking hands and smiling like the clock
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| Well we gave them all the message then
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| That the ship of fools was in
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| Make sure they get home for christmas
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| So hold on, won’t be long
|
| The call is on the line
|
| So hold on, sister’s gone
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| South to give the sign |