| It takes all kinds
|
| To keep this world in place
|
| It’s a fragile balance
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| That let’s us swing through space
|
| So everybody’s
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| Got their job to do
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| And girl I guess
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| The job I’ve got
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| Is cryin' over you
|
| And I should get a gold watch
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| For all the years I gave
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| And I should get some interest now
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| For all the dues I’ve paid
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| I don’t know why I love you,
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| It’s just the job I do
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| I’m your registered, certified
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| Card carryin' fool
|
| If I was in the army
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| There’d be medals that I’d get
|
| If I ws in the circus,
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| At least I"d have a net
|
| If I was an electrician,
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| I might could find a spark
|
| And if I could be a surgeon, Girl,
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| I might could find your heart
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| But I keep bending over backwards
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| Just to be your limbo man
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| while you drop that stick another notch
|
| Every chance you can
|
| I don’t know why I love you,
|
| It’s just the job I do
|
| I’m your registered, certified
|
| Card carryin' fool
|
| Ah, if I was a gambler
|
| I might have better luck
|
| If I was mathematician
|
| I could make it all add up
|
| But when it comes down to it
|
| All I want to do
|
| Is be your registered, certified
|
| Card carryin' fool.
|
| Yeah, when it comes down to it
|
| All I want to do
|
| Is be your registered, certified
|
| Card carryin' fool… |