| Riding into town when the sun goes down
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| And the natives get restless and the crowd comes round
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| Pacing in place in a backward race
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| While starting my case to another blank face
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| I’m just sitting on the roadside
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| Watching all the cards and the clouds roll by They may pass me by But i need a better reason to cry
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| Growing pain it leaves a stain
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| That’s similar but not the same
|
| It’s down the drain and what remains
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| Maybe you’re the one who’s a little insane
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| Now everything’s lovely if you’re ugly
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| What you would, what you should, and what you could be Mr right, spending his life,
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| Stabbing himself with a butter knife
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| I’m just sitting on the roadside
|
| Watching all the cards and the clouds roll by They may pass me by But I need a better reason to cry
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| Growing pain’s a spinning blade
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| Whirling round you like a razor edged chain
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| It’s down the drain and what remains
|
| Maybe you’re the one who’s a little insane
|
| Growing pain it leaves a stain
|
| That’s similar but not the same
|
| Its down the drain and what remains
|
| Maybe you’re the one who can make that change
|
| Can’t shake hands with boxing gloves
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| With whips and chains you’ll never make love |