| Saturday night he comes home stinking
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| Sunday morning she wakes up thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking
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| Does she need to get the kids dressed to go to church
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| He’s pulled a shotgun out of the lurch
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| He heads for the TV room starts to search
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| His problems swollen like a river and his reality’s shrinking
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| He finds them huddled by the toy box and splatters 'em all
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| The ken and the midge and the skipper doll
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| They look like a family but they’re really not at all
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| Well he’s sad but he ain’t sorry
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| It ain’t the end of the world
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| It’s just the wreck of the barbie ferrari
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| He wonders if he ever said I do
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| To that little blonde plastic voodoo
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| And his mind’s gone fishin'
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| Well it started just as plain as the nose on your face
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| Now it’s in a thousand pieces all over the place
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| He thought she was driving but it’s twisted beyond recognition
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| All the diapers and the tutus and the basketballs
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| She was givin' them a lift to the promised mall
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| But somewhere by the TV that V-12 stalled
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| As he loaded the chamber her eyes got starry
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| It ain’t the end of the world
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| It’s just wreck of the barbie ferrari
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| When they get home from church won’t they be sorry
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| He’s cornered 'em all on his urban safari
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| It ain’t the end of the world…
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| He’s played with cars and guns since he could crawl
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| Now he wishes he’d never met that doll with her face gone
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| There wasn’t nothing he ever thought about
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| He couldn’t drive through or shoot his way out
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| As he surveys the family room littered with dolls
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| He can’t find one leg to stand on
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| He aims the gun at his head now he’s starting to cry
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| Looking for the courage to let it fly
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| Can’t live without his family now that something has died
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| He’s not sure who’s hurt not sure who’s sorry
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| It ain’t the end of the world… |