| You accuse me of fancy talk
|
| When i’m just trying to find my words
|
| You’ve got a funny way of saying my name
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| Like i just ripped it off
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| These whiskey tango ghosts
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| Won’t leave us alone
|
| But you are too polite to complain
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| Of the art of speaking plain
|
| I haven’t gathered a thing
|
| While I know we’re dug in deep here
|
| Why can’t we live high with the wind
|
| You’re just a freckle away from changing everything
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| I’ll make this easy
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| By calling on my gypsy pedigree
|
| These whiskey tango ghosts
|
| Won’t leave us alone
|
| Of the art of speaking plain
|
| I haven’t gathered a thing
|
| While i know we’re dug in deep here
|
| Why can’t we live high with the wind
|
| Can’t we live
|
| Of the art of making waves
|
| I had my lesson in spades
|
| And these ghosts they make it plain
|
| They’re never going away
|
| And my ghost she makes it plain
|
| I haven’t gathered a thing
|
| Though I know we’re dug in deep here
|
| Why can’t we live high with the wind
|
| Can’t we live |