| If you stick around, you’ll eventually wear the crown
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| If you’ve got the patience and wherewithal to pass the time
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| Rolling with their punches, shut up and take it during their lunches
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| The black sheep will wear the white sheep’s woolen sweater
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| If only you can pull it together
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| Sticking to your guns, be they holy or infamous ones
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| Is gonna build your character where there used to be none
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| You’re gonna love your new frame, it’s the shape of things to come
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| The leader of the pack will be scratching your back
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| If only you can tackle the black-backed jackal
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| Baby, come to me
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| My blue suede boots may stumble on the ridge
|
| Baby, come to me
|
| Your poncho soaks up all the water under the bridge
|
| So if you can stomach climbing out of a thousand train wrecks in a pitch black
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| tunnel, granted only, say, two light flickers
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| If you can take abuse like a gentleman holds his liquor
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| The eager overachiever will eventually trip (trip)
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| And that’s when you can have your way, consensually
|
| Baby, come to me
|
| My blue suede boots may stumble on the ridge
|
| Baby, come to me
|
| Your poncho soaks up all the water under the bridge
|
| Water under the bridge
|
| Water under the bridge
|
| When you’ve been underestimated, patronized, or have been degraded
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| When you try, and fail, to look up the meaning of ill-fated
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| And all the bunnies who outran you incidentally were hares you hated
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| So much so you can’t wait to see their faces again
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| You’ll leave them in the dust atop a turtle, your trusted friend
|
| Baby, come to me
|
| My blue suede boots may stumble on the ridge
|
| Baby, come to me
|
| Your poncho soaks up all the water under the bridge
|
| Water under the bridge
|
| Water under the bridge
|
| Water under the bridge
|
| Baby, come to me…
|
| Baby, come to me…
|
| Baby, come to me…
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| Baby, come to me… |