| The lights of São Paulo are flashing
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| Your car sends you crashing forever along
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| The clocks were turned back, you remember
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| I think it’s still November
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| But the party is on
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| We’re off to the hills on the back road
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| Our best friend has his kit, there’s nothing to smoke
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| He’s nothing but another pretender
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| A trust-fund West Ender
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| He’s rich but he’s broke
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| Fire and wood
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| We’re burning it down
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| The whiskey is good
|
| We own this damn town
|
| We’re off to the Forró for dancing
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| In minutes we’re prancing to the V.I.P. |
| room
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| We’re back on the floor in a half- beat
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| Then back out on the street
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| I lost my perfume!
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| The art dealer’s house is a beauty
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| His son is a cutie
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| His father has galleries he runs
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| We’re turning the world on its head
|
| Then off to his bed
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| For some conjugal fun
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| Fire and wood
|
| We’re burning it down
|
| The whiskey is good
|
| We own this damn town
|
| I didn’t mean what I said
|
| Come back, come back
|
| The good times are all still ahead
|
| Come back, come back
|
| Back down the road that we came up
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| The street signs are glowing, the houses are gone
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| The dawn is a sky full of embers
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| It’s still November
|
| And summer is on
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| We’ll go back to my place for music
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| Then off to the airport-
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| A flight to the shore!
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| We’re living the lives we were born for
|
| We’re going nowhere, but at least we’re not poor!
|
| Fire and wood
|
| We’re burning it down
|
| The whiskey is good
|
| We own this damn town |