| Had so much to do with it,
|
| Unlike you ever gave a shit,
|
| Got a pocket full of nothing,
|
| And a chip on the tip of your tongue
|
| We don’t ever wanna miss,
|
| The guy from Minneapolis,
|
| Taking one big step,
|
| And he’s missing the whole front run.
|
| You’ve got blood on your knuckles from beating them down,
|
| Each and every day,
|
| Blood on your knuckles from dragging them round,
|
| No matter what they say.
|
| One big giant sing-along,
|
| I tell you’re right even when you’re wrong,
|
| Always be here rooting for you,
|
| Right till the end.
|
| Calls me every single Christmas day,
|
| I never know quite just what to say,
|
| Going fifteen years of,
|
| Kinda-sorta being my friend.
|
| You’ve got blood on your knuckles from beating them down,
|
| Each and every day,
|
| Blood on your knuckles from dragging them round,
|
| No matter what they say.
|
| And you came all this way,
|
| Got there just in time,
|
| To stop right before the finish line.
|
| You’ve got blood on your knuckles from beating them down,
|
| Each and every day,
|
| Blood on your knuckles from dragging them round,
|
| No matter what they say.
|
| And you came all this way,
|
| Got here just in time,
|
| To stop right before the finish line.
|
| To stop right before the finish line,
|
| To stop right before… |