| Rolling along the street like an empty carton
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| Mouthing words to music no one else can hear
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| Rolling in the gutter like a stolen hubcap
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| The force field means no one comes near
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| I’ve got a right to fly
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| But you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| Try and engage some conversation but people’s teeth grind
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| And heckles rise and then they get that glazed look in there eyes
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| They press a tarnished coin into my greasy mitt
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| My clothes catch the rain, the sun, the sweat
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| One less soldier behind the shield of offense
|
| Mind grows propellers and pilots and retro rockets
|
| Taking off to where the alley wind and says
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I got my head in the clouds
|
| And my feet on the ground
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| But you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| And you’re wrong to bring me down
|
| I’ve got a right to fly
|
| I’ve got a right to fly |