| It was a fine left coast morning
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| And I found myself planted outside
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| The Cap 'N' Cork
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| Tipping back the hops
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| In order to calm my dancing hands
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| You see I usually don’t play
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| The tied-up watchdog routine
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| Looking up and down the street
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| But this is the corner
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| Joey A., my car and I
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| Were supposed to meet
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| You see Joey The Amateur and I
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| Were out clinkin' glasses last night
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| When I got three sheets to an ill wind
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| Myself being in possession
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| Of a fine Double 5 Lincoln convert
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| Joey offered to skip me back to the crib
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| I awoke to a barren driveway
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| And a neighbor started to chide
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| «Joey dumped you off,
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| And he’s got your ride!»
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| Black cats, they don’t bother me
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| I smile in bad company
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| And I’m cool as the day is long
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| But takin' my car, daddy
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| That’s dead wrong
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| It was now 11:22
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| And up scuffles Benny The Shoe
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| A real hot air merchant from way back
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| I inquired about Joey A.
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| And my superfine Lincoln
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| Then Mr. B.S. |
| beat his gums
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| And testified to me,
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| «Joe's washing the short,
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| Changing da oil
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| He’ll be here by three.»
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| So the little hand hits three
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| And who should appear
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| But a Cuban cat named Geronimo
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| An upstanding cat
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| In the textile business
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| He said, «Joey knocked over a racketman
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| And is laying low for a few,
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| But in your trunk he left you some treasure
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| A pint of rye and a case of Slim Jim’s
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| For your masticating pleasure
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| Now ten p.m. |
| finds me
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| Hot as a hophead’s zippo
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| When Rosie appears
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| On her financially motivated |