| Numbers turn to money
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| Ain’t it funny how we’re built
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| To spend the whole of our lives running
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| Number crunching on assumption
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| There’s reason in repeating rhymes
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| And throwing keys and swapping wives
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| As long as it’s within the privacy
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| Of our own private lives
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| Stuck with no direction
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| Seeking everyone’s attention
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| Out for his or hers affection
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| For I’ve got the recollection
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| No Viagra, no erection
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| No insurance, no protection
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| And no cure and no prevention
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| Did you ever think to mention
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| A smaller house, a smaller town
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| Where bladed gossip does the rounds
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| Giant fish in tiny ponds
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| Where nothing’s really going on
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| And everyone knows everyone
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| And everybody’s goings-on
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| And everyone wants everyone
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| To try to fuck to get along
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| The booze will cut you loose
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| If even for a day or two or three
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| Or four or five or six or ten
|
| You’ll never be the same again
|
| And people won’t remember you
|
| Your children and your children’s too
|
| We alone can contemplate
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| And dig the hole for their remains
|
| Do I have you so innate
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| And so uptight, yeah
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| Do I have you so innate
|
| And so uptight
|
| I hope I sleep tonight
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| I hope I sleep tonight
|
| I hope I sleep tonight
|
| I hope I sleep tonight
|
| So then you change the channel
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| Turn your cheek and look the other way
|
| Your life now on hiatus
|
| Checks the status of your friend’s new status
|
| Tell them all about those bags
|
| Tell them all, but do be frank
|
| Tell them all those people died
|
| Let’s see what’s on the other side
|
| And no one cares 'cause no one minds
|
| 'Cause everybody’s filled their time
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| With everything that’s going on
|
| And on and on and on and on
|
| And on until the end of time
|
| No way to know about what’s right
|
| Growing up and getting older
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| Just another culture vulture |