| Attaboy
|
| Attaboy
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| Sometimes I have problems relating to Batman
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| A billionaire in a bondage suit stomping the destitute with Freudian jackboots
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| Then I realize he’s an anarchist radical in disguise
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| He probably listens to In My Eyes
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| Of course it feels better when you realize a punk can fly
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| He can fly
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| Why do you do just what they told you?
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| Have them both at, have them both at once
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| Have them both at once
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| Why don’t you feel bad?
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| Why don’t you feel had?
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| You split the baby just to please the crutch of desperate mothers out for blood
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| Attaboy
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| Attaboy
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| Sometimes I gut and skin those who cannot reconcile my stance:
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| Muddled spiritual phrase;
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| Pseudo-political rage;
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| Beer gut on a sober man
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| Then I press my calloused flesh to someone who’s out of my league
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| And knowingly laugh knowing life is transcending heat-death and its aftermath
|
| Attaboy
|
| Attaboy
|
| Why do you do just what they told you?
|
| Have them both at once, have them both at once
|
| Why don’t you feel bad?
|
| Why don’t you feel had?
|
| You split the baby just to please the crutch of desperate mothers out for blood
|
| Why do you do just what they told you?
|
| I think it’s a crying shame that you’re not at this show
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| Because I’m trying to tap into something you reluctantly know
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| Don’t jam it in private so all your co-workers won’t know
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| Nobody’s watching over you
|
| You can nod your head precious
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| We can drown out the daytime soap you live
|
| And the ghosts you’ve been mourning
|
| I know we keep just plugging away at the same octave chords
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| We only know octave chords
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| A career built on octave chords
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| Butchered to jilted time
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| But it’s the frightfully mundane that keeps us alive
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| So keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on
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| Keep on keeping on |