| He was a back alley street fightin man
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| He just do what he please
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| A bad struttin mother, a sucker for
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| His gun and his needs
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| Yeah, mad at the world
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| Thrown down and tied to the whippin'
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| Post, oh he’s a lost soul
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| Who wants it all
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| You know a poor boy with muddy hands
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| Ain’t got no childhood memories
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| There’s no way out for this punk called
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| Street fightin' man
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| Yeah, street fightin man
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| Well there’s a black cloud that covers
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| The city a shadow he stands
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| Taken through the darkest alleyways and
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| Taught fist, blood, and greed
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| And nothing more
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| Sad at the world
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| Like a heart that bleeds with a cut
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| Od a knife oh he’s a lost soul
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| Who wants it all
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| Mad at the world
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| Poor souls how no respect
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| For no one at all
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| Oh I won’t be coming home
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| No I won’t
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| Street fightin' man
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| He was a back alley street fightin' man
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| He just do what he please
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| For ever to be damned
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| Just a beggar, begging on his knees
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| You know it;s down, down, down
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| To the depths of his soul
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| There ain’t no loving home man
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| For tha street fightin' man
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| Street fightin' man
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| And mad at the world
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| No I won’t be coming
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| I won’t be coming
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