| Hold your fire
|
| Don’t shoot me
|
| I’m in need of a friend
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| And I’m cold and seeking shelter from the storm
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| Put aside your rifle
|
| Help me steer around the bend
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| Help me find my way back to the road for home
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| You see I’d grown my hair, I got my head all straight
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| Went after the American dream
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| But I always ended up outside looking in on someone’s scene
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| I was raised on hope and plastic carrot strung out right before my face
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| I chased every pretty woman looking my way twice but they all disappeared
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| without trace
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| I’ve been shoved around from town to town it came so naturally
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| I’ve been stopped and searched maybe fourteen times on my way from A to B
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| I’ve been pointed at by children while I was sleeping in the park
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| And I was heading home dejected when I scared you in the dark
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| Hold your fire
|
| Don’t shoot me
|
| I’m in need of a friend
|
| And I’m cold and seeking shelter from the storm
|
| Put aside your rifle
|
| You could see me there at every happening with my album by the Byrds
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| I was shown how to question the great «I Ching» but I could dig some of the
|
| words
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| I’ve smoked a ton of marijuana, I sat crossed legged till my legs went numb
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| I made peace signs at the farmers when they called me a no good bum
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| I’ve read pornographic literature and I’ve studied the underground press
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| I had given my all to Krishna who I was told would not take less
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| I spent three weeks making necklaces from oriental beads
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| They were stolen by my guru while I was high on glory seeds
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| Hold your fire
|
| Don’t shoot me
|
| I’m in need of a friend
|
| And I’m cold and seeking shelter from the storm
|
| Put aside your rifle
|
| See I’d taken to wearing sandals and I’d given up watching T.V.
|
| I was rolling up grass in the American flag and I was sick from snorting «C»
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| I blew my mind out on a trip one night and I ran all the way back to town
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| But the minute I saw the lights in their faces I freaked and turned right around
|
| Well my skin turned yellow and my eyes sunk back from my diet of boiled brown
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| rice
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| I would shuffle past bright warm houses to my groove pad cold as ice
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| I’ve been beaten down and busted and I’ve wound up on my own
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| And there’s nothing left that buzzes me so I’m returning home
|
| Hold your fire
|
| Don’t shoot me
|
| I’m in need of a friend
|
| And I’m cold and seeking shelter from the storm
|
| Put aside your rifle |