| I was sittin' in the dark of a summer park
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| Playing paper, scissors, and stone
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| Minding my own
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| But playin' alone
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| When I noticed all the rest in their shorts and vests
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| Singing Harrison’s 'Here Comes the Sun'
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| I needed a gun
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| The fight had begun
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| I did not go to song, you see
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| The song just came to me
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| Like afternoon to evening shade
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| Like lumberjack to tree
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| It pinned me down like wrestler
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| And would not let me be
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| Held me down in deathly grip
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| The count of '1,2,3'
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| I’ve been fanning the flames of heated debate
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| Since 1978
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| Left the teacher shocked
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| At the old school gate
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| So I walked away in the month of May
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| With the long-distance vision of June
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| Hummin' a tune
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| Payback soon
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| I did not choose the melody
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| The tune just called my name
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| And after just one taste of it
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| I knew just where to aim
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| I did not clamber onto stage
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| Fame just blinded me
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| I did not wander, open mouth
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| For world to disagree
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| Life is never easy
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| When you’ve tattooed on your tongue
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| Very rarely 'Am I right?'
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| But never 'Am I wrong?'
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| From arguments that came to me
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| To songs I always sung
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| I’m my own worst enemy
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| And my own mother’s son
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| I’m my own mother’s son…
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| Mm, own mother’s son…
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| Own mother’s son…
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| Own mother’s son…
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| That I can’t deny…
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| My own mother’s son…
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| My own mother’s son… |