| I just sit there, and let the thoughts flood
|
| And I remind myself: «it's all right, it’s all good, it’s all love»
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| It’s not though. |
| Cuz there’s a kink in the armor
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| A pot hole I’m sinkin' in, while I think of the drama
|
| So I stand up, I start to pace in my living room
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| Set my eye to the highway, knowin' that I’ll play chicken soon
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| There’s a vanity plate, wit my name on it There’s a Davy Crocket hat with a Masonic fat cat under it A musket rifle spittin' at my feet
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| They want me to dance in the middle of the street
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| And I respect my elders, so I do as I’m told
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| But I offset the bell curve when I do it with soul. |
| Losin' control.
|
| Guilty feet do have rhythm
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| They just dance to the wrong theme music to amuse the villain.
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| Instead of killin', I spare the raccoon
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| And start fillin' sand bags as I stare at the moon and let the thoughts flood.
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| Blessed are those who are damned
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| When the levee broke, how many choked on the steps of a slow dance?
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| A staircase to a hug with no hands
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| Accountability hung out to dry on the line of command
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| We let the thoughts flood
|
| We remind ourselves it’s all right, it’s all good, it’s all love"
|
| It’s not though. |
| Cuz there’s a kink in the armor
|
| A pot hole I’m sinkin' in, sharing a drink with my father
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| It’s a family affair, the vanity we share
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| The water line is rising and all we do is stand there. |