| We gave the cities to the women
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| We thought it was the least that we could do
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| We were under the impression that freedom
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| Was more than just the freedom
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| To wipe shit off of your shoe
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| And we talked about the way that people are
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| As we drive towards Salt Lake
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| Away from a lake of fire, we say
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| «How could they not have known?!
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| How could they not have known?!»
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| Until we drive fifty miles too far
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| And we will find a spot in the sun
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| Where we will let our hearts run wild
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| They will come back late
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| They will come back black
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| But then we’ll hear black is back in style
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| Said they will come back broken
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| They will come back black
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| But then we’ll hear that black is back in style
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| And we’ll be the last to know
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| We’ll be the last to know
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| We’ll be the last to know
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| That black is back in style
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| We’ll be the last to know
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| We’ll be the last to know
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| We’ll be the last to know
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| That black is back in style |