| She was like Venus De Milo only with a better smile though
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| Triple lip piercing lit the fuse that let my mind blow
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| Bright red lips, j-jet black hair
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| Holding her composure like she’s really unaware
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| That she’s drawing all of my attention with her movements
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| No matter how hard I look, I see no room for improvement
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| Low slung jeans made my mind begin to wonder
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| Revealing just enough form, man she’s gonna take me under
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| So what’s my game plan?
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| You know I really ain’t got one
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| Too many ships sailed past in the night, I’m yet to stop one
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| I just float on by with the flotsam and jetsam
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| But it’s got to better than the pain of rejection
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| It’s the one thing in my life that I just keep repeating
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| As I approach a pretty girl I feel my brain retreating
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| Will I leave this situation with dignity and keeping?
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| Or fall flat on my face like Buster Keaton
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| But wait, there’s one thing that might break the trend
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| Out the corner of my eye I see a mutual friend
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| I’m like «How's it going Ben, remember me from way back when?
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| Well maybe we could talk and introduce me to your friend
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| And maybe if you recommend me and maybe if she then befriends me
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| Maybe I will meet a girl that understands and comprehends me
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| Ahh, but maybe not. |
| Maybe just, uh.»
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| I’m dreaming…
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| Like Martin Luther King, I had a dream
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| But mine involved you and a tub of whipped cream
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| Wait I apologize. |
| It ain’t like me to be crude
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| The was a momentary lapse, a little interlude
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| It’s just hard sometimes, making every line have meaning
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| When I turn on the TV and see the gold chains gleaming
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| Maybe I should buckle and spout commercial shit
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| But it’s the fact that I don’t that makes me Scroobius Pip
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| So back to the story, now two months down the line
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| The introduction went well and we shared all our time
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| We’d opened up and even shared the deepest of truths
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| She hadn’t cried in weeks, I stopped looking for escape routes
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| Then bang as expected cracks did appear
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| And the kind of cracks that grow with paranoia and fear
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| Was it the theories in my head or the fairies in my bed
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| That made it scary when she said she sometimes wished she was dead
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| Whatever it was, there seemed so little I could do
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| I could help her, but in the end she’d have to help herself too
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| Over time I stopped whispering sweet nothings in her ears
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| And just watched them same glistening sweet nothings in her tears
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| And the more I watched the more it confirmed my fears
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| That even in dreams right and wrong is never clear
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| I’m dreaming… |