| They’re thirty-nine years old
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| They’re worth their weight in gold
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| They work in busy offices I hope to God will fold
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| They hated Vietnam
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| They love the neutron bomb
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| And they’re your next door neighbors and your father and your mom
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| They’re the yuppies
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| Yup yup yup
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| They were hippies
|
| But they grew up
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| They love money
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| Do re mi
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| They’re the Class of '63
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| You know what else?
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| They swing to the right
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| They live in Jackson Heights
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| They watch «St. |
| Elsewhere,» «Hill Street Blues,» and «Dynasty» at night
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| But when the workday’s done
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| They want to have some fun
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| So they go out to discos and pretend they’re twenty-one
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| But they’re not!
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| They’re the yuppies
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| They were hippies
|
| But they grew up
|
| They love money
|
| Do re mi
|
| They’re the Class of '63
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| I tell you
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| They’re an ugly lot
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| Who think they’re pretty hot
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| They know exactly where they were when Kennedy was shot
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| But when they hit the skids
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| They really flip their lids
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| They sink a few martinis and go home and beat the kids
|
| They’re the yuppies
|
| Yup yup yup
|
| They were hippies
|
| But they grew up
|
| They love money
|
| Do re mi
|
| They’re the Class of '63
|
| Fuck them! |