| In the black of the night
|
| There’s somethin' waiting there to ba-ba-ba-bite
|
| There’s somethin' waiting in the shadows
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| And their looks for you to follow
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| The mystery creates a fog
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| Not even movement’s separated
|
| My pivotal knowledge is outdated
|
| I wear my brain dead on my feet
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| Built tough! |
| Road-tested, professional terminal disease
|
| Built tough! |
| Road-tested, professional terminal disease
|
| I’ll pull the trigger on four
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| It’s not that hard to see you’re dangerous
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| If I had hours I would fill no threat
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| I’d pick the locks on five
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| Out in a hidden space on fire
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| It’s really hard to see the look that shines
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| The thoughts you thought oh baby forget them
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| Coz drinks and salads never mix
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| Tonight your skin is kinda white
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| You know you’ll never ever cure it
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| So bite down your bottom lip
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| So bite down your bottom lip
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| And when you’re feeling kinda queasy
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| And your eyes begin to shut down
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| The moon is shining it on your path
|
| I wear my brain dead on my sleeve
|
| Built tough! |
| Road-tested, professional terminal disease
|
| Built tough! |
| Road-tested, professional terminal disease |