| When I run into friends of mine I haven’t seen in years
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| They give me the once over then their eyes well up with tears
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| Then they pronounce me 'looking great', I haven’t changed a bit
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| I flash 'em back a feeble smile: I know I look like shit
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| 'Cos I saw myself this morning, phew, and I know of what I speak
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| I’m a human being, but I look like I reek
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| And a weaker bathroom lightbulb just might take care of it
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| 'Cos the mirror shatters your illusions when you look like shit
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| Shit comes in different colours, and consistencies
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| I guess that I’m just aging like the finest wines and cheeses
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| The guy that’s me, who’s in my dreams, is twenty-five or six
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| I’m old enough to be his dad, how’s that for parlour tricks?
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| Life’s a job you’re fired from, unless of course you quit
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| Gee, I wonder if that old blind guy knows that he looks like shit?
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| Let’s ask him!
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| 'Scuse me? |
| No, over here!
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| Although I know it’s natural, I still can’t understand
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| Once I looked like a million bucks, now, more like two grand
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| We start out with a lot of time, but what happens to it?
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| Times flies when you fuck around and then you look like shit!
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| Oh, ain’t it the truth, brothers and sisters?
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| Shit comes in different colours, and consistencies
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| 'Shit's a gift we make', Freud said, 'here, take mine won’t you please?'
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| Growing old ain’t easy, it’s a process so they say
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| We proceed to our grand finales, every single day
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| But dying doesn’t worry me, I’m not bothered a bit
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| I just don’t like the thought of lying there looking like shit! |