| I drive around with the trunk tied down with a bungee cord
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| 'Cause I hopped a curb and backed into her new boyfriend’s Ford
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| And down the hall there’s a hole in the wall that’s hard to miss
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| It’s about the size and shape of my right busted fist
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| Everything I own has got a dent
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| It’s cracked or scratched, ripped or torn
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| Banged up or slightly bent
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| Why should my heart be any different?
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| Everything that I own has got a dent
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| She used to say I’m a man who’s way too hard on stuff
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| And she let me know that, that also goes for our love
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| I guess her heart’s like that old dead goldfish I forgot to feed
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| And mine’s like that dirt bike I wrapped around that tree
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| Everything I own has got a dent
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| It’s cracked or scratched, ripped or torn
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| Banged up or slightly bent
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| Why should my heart be any different?
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| Everything that I own has got a dent
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| In the side, a hole in the back
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| A big piece of junk, ready for the trash
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| Better day’s gone
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| Heart just keeps on beating anyway
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| Everything I own has got a dent
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| It’s cracked or scratched, ripped or torn
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| Banged up or slightly bent
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| Why should my heart be any different?
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| Everything that I own, can’t find one thing that don’t
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| Everything that I own has got a dent
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| Oh, big ol' dent |