| Well, big bad man come into town
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| Gave sweets to the children
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| Pushed their daddies around
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| Made the streets so bright in the zones of blight
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| No more fear in the hearts of whites
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| He built a hall, put on a show
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| From high above, watched his boulders roll
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| Then he bought Main Street and the old Town Hall
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| He named his price, his face on every wall
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| Now the factories have all shut down
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| No more cloth stitched in this town
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| So the only job for boy and I
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| In the prison making tiles shine
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| Someday that man will come here too
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| With that magic hat, spit and glue
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| He’ll wash the stone, paint the brick
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| Rename the streets
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| And make the clocks all tick on time
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| He’ll make us run on time
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| And every town will celebrate someday
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| Waving sweatshop flags and grande lattes
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| Wearing culture on their backs
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| Wearing spirit on their hats
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| One by one they’ll join the parade and celebrate
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| Yeah, every town will celebrate someday
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| Now corners near and corners far
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| Are somehow the same coffee bar
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| And community is felt again
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| Thanks to folks I’ve never met
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| They slayed the artists, sold their arts
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| Gave the toddlers shopping carts
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| Raised the prices, raised the rent
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| Some days I wish that I could go back again
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| No, I can’t go back again
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| Just like they do in Florida
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| Down in Celebration, Florida
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| And when every road is Main Street, U.S.A
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| We’ll be safely kept at bay from any disruption or display
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| Of truth, adventure, love and rage |