| I drive a truck, it carries money
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| And everyday, I dream up my fantasies
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| Yesterday, I bought my beach house
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| A little place just off the coast of France
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| Everyday I think of money
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| Everyday I think of running
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| I love my truck, I love my family
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| Stuck in the back, the good life surrounds me
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| Could tie my right hand man, and put him some place
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| Then I’d ditch the truck, and buy a new face
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| Everyday I think of money
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| Everyday I think of something
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| It can’t buy you love, can’t give you soul
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| Can pick you up, can down you low
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| Can drag you out of the hole
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| You dug, yourself, out of again
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| Sat in a truck, it it carries convicts
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| My hands are bound to the seat by handcuffs
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| Tomorrow, I’ll maybe walk around the yard
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| Or paint in my cell, and hate imprisonment
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| Everyday I think of money
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| Everyday I miss my family |