| Another sound sprung out on the icy mountain
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| And there’s blood everywhere and smoke and broken bones
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| But i won’t stop to help them, 'cause I’m drving to my favorite motel
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| So I can watch CNN and Full House and MTV
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| Yeah, the world’s just a big fucking baby factory
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| You know the hooker in 301's screamin at the top of the lungs:
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| «Won't you be my man won’t you be my baby boy?»
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| But you know that she is fakin'
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| 'cause everybody’s gotta make a livin'
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| And then you just feel like shit
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| 'cause you know that you’ll die alone
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| How bizzare, as the skies gaping jaws swallow you whole
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| And it’s a long way from the master to the slave
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| Yeah it’s a long way from NYC to Santa Fe
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| Back where we belong
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| You got luxury problems
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| Yeah and she stands screamin' at the top of the staircase
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| Oh those chandeliers and vines
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| I got daddy’s membership card that gets me into all the mansion
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| Every butler in the country knows me by name
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| Because I hang out at the dinner parties
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| And I try to talk to their daughters
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| Because I want to marry rich, but they all treat me like shit
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| Between the cocaine and the sex
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| And your bank account full of daddy’s checks
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| «Excuse me, mister… but the river’s is full of rotting babies
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| The ocean’s black with decaying flesh»
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| Well what a thing to say at the table
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| Oh yeah You ought to be ashamed of yourself
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| Well Go on and chew your food
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| Talk about sports, weather and stocks
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| And all the things that keep you from putting a gun in your mouth
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| And it’s a long way from the master to the slave
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| It’s a long way from New York City to Santa Fe
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| Back where we belong
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| You’ve got luxury problems |