| Picture me rolling pastor
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| When you come stumbling after mine all mine
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| To put your paws on my old birthday cards and my emeralds
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| To marry me to the mud or to the sky
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| You can find me on that cold black bus
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| Heading up north toward the shitty ol' ugly ol' dirty ol' sea
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| Sitting next to a girl I might even think was kind of pretty
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| If I knew her long enough
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| And she might think the same of me
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| But I fell asleep dreaming through a gang sign in the glass
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| Thinking about all the ones I’ve seen with no clothes on
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| Their faces turn to the faces of my runners fore
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| Their bodies are thorns on a rose
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| And the years are statues of pioneers
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| Once they have dried inside our minds
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| They’re gong to crumble down our spines
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| But you can knock the dick off David
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| And he’s still a friend of mine
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| So I went swimming through the sewage and the silver
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| With a heart like a wall like a great big wall
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| They pointed their fingers and said «Go north to Bethlehem»
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| Turns out that I was there all along
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| Just swinging my fist and singing this song
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| «I remember Carolina, I remember Tennessee»
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| I remember jumping from trees to shrubs
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| Pissing off all the flowers and bugs
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| We weren’t winning but we sure could pretend to be
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| And you can knock the dick off David
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| But he’s still a friend to me
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| And the years are statues of pioneers
|
| Once they have dried inside our minds
|
| They’re gong to crumble down our spines
|
| But you can knock the dick off David
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| And he’s still a friend of mine
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| Through the years (yeah they’ve been good to me)
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| The years (throughout my life throughout)
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| The years (some gold some wood to me)
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| The years (that I’m going to leave behind) |