| Can’t you see the black strap
|
| It holds me up, for the last lap
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| I know I said I had a good time
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| But now I’m sprawled across the finish line
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| I’m pickin' up the straws
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| And now I’m wonderin' how I did because
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| The situation’s heavy
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| And the competition’s thin
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| Now I’ve got to wake up
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| So I can get back on my feet again
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| Could you spare some common sense
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| It’s a brave gamble, so just give it up
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| Now you know about those people in the sky
|
| Well they’re the same folks that held me up
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| I’m sortin' out my flaws
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| Because I’m runnin' last place
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| And the look on my face says
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| This record’s disappearing
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| And my system’s on the mend
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| But I’ll never know who wins
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| Until I make it to the end
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| Take care of what you preach, right
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| 'Cause no one cares about your mike fright
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| But when the pen is to paper, I never stop to think
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| That I should stop thinkin' about you that way
|
| The signing of this mock simulation
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| Plots a course towards some clarification
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| It’s a keenly realized fabrication
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| Comin' from your radio station
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| But I’ll be running 400 metres again |