| My name is David McCleary Sheldon
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| I was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri
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| Started right here I don’t want it to be over
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| Say it right here I don’t want it to be over
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| (repeats in background)
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| You got a beautiful face
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| Sittin’on the roof of the factory high
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| There’s a blood orange moon in the strawberry sky
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| To come home soon is the wishing wonder
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| But I’m calm by the boom of the distant thunder
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| Relax, there’s no television static
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| Just the howl’s and never ending traffic
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| This world is plastic and fake
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| And I was born a few generations late
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| Illustrate my face feel this spunky
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| Yeah I’m strange as hell but I’m real as fuck
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| So follow my smell to the hollows and dells
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| And I’ll show you the snake’s as they swallow their tails
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| They’re right there running the assembly lines
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| Where the coal gets shoveled by the carton smokers
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| They’re parasites burrowed in the listeners minds
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| Nevermind, scratch that, let me start this over
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| Man, how far does this pigeon hole travel
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| Find the answer in the indigo shadows
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| Though you can unless you know the chant
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| Or the eight away labor line soldier ant
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| I held my mom as she died in my hands
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| Had to cancel the tour
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| I hope you guys understand
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| That the life of a man’s gonna crack
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| In the eyes of his fans
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| When he fails to supply the demand
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| Now if only I could catch my breath
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| I got spurs on my boots, I can etch my steps
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| So I can find my way home when I stretch my depth
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| But I gotta get a disclaimer off my chest
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| When I talk about social ills
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| Or the alcohol fix or the potent pills
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| Understand that i wrote it with a soul to fill
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| I had to sketch myself a new home to build
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| I was baited and caught by decoys and free will
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| Wounded inside I rejoiced in cheap thrills
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| My life was destroyed and rebuild
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| Listen to the dangerous sweet noise and keep still
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| Introverted borderline sick disconcerted
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| Kinda slick when its quickly worded
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| Every tick every twist every drips assertive
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| With the verse every pixel is picture perfect
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| When at first! |
| that’s how I stitched the ferber
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| With the scraps and the bits of the century murder
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| And then the intenceses I’m ripple with the type of terrificness
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| The benefits of rhyming certificates kids are intimate
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| I’m spitting so the minute on the rhythm and I’m gettin so inventive
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| That there’s really no equivalent
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| I’ll rip a show, a pigeon hole, and invalent
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| Until they gotta tippy toe to get a dose of lithium
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| So tell the other kids to smell the blood I spit
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| Just to let them know what they hell they fuckin’with
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| I’ve felt pain and I’ll feel it again
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| Take 'em back to the end start again
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| I got mental cravings for sinfull tastings
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| And gentle phrasings with pencil shavings
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| I felt pain and I’ll feel it again
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| Take 'em back to the end start again
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| Away
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| Start it right here I don’t want it to be over
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| Say it right here I don’t want it to be over
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| (repeats in background)
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| You got, you got a, you got a beautiful face
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| (repeats until song finishes) |