| In my head a beating drum
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| Deep down inside the day will come
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| When I can sing these words to you
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| It’s the least that I can do
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| In my school the freaky one
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| My hands were sore, my fingers numb
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| From making rhythms on my desk
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| My heart was banging in my chest
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| So it came to pass my beats
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| Were broken by the other kids
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| They make stronger, make me deeper,
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| So my path is getting steeper
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| I love my syncopated city
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| This is my fascinating rhythm
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| I need my syncopated city
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| I love my mindless repetition
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| At the table, fingers tapping
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| Wish that I could stop this happening
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| In the morning, in the evening
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| While I’m working, while I’m sleeping
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| In the street with people watching
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| I can’t stop myself from jumping
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| If I smile and look convincing
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| Maybe they will think…
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| I’m dancing
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| I love my syncopated city
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| This is my fascinating rhythm
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| I need my syncopated city
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| I love my sense of dislocation
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| I love
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| I love
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| I love
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| If it wasn’t for music I would give it all away
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| I need the syncopation
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| I need the modulation
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| I need the real soul music
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| I need that unexpected twist and turn. |