| Well I always knew you’d take the crutches
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| and not the skis
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| 1 always knew you’d take the stilts
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| and then your knees
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| When God gave you the sky
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| I knew you’d take the trees
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| Son you’ve grown those chicken wings
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| You just can’t fly
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| They anchored our dream yacht to ocean bed
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| chained our ideal home to bicycle shed
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| Clamped our racing car before we sat in driver’s seat
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| Tied our shooting stars and wrapped them round a tree
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| We could’ve courted Einstein
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| could’ve courted Marx
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| we could’ve gone for strolls
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| like other families do in parks
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| Son you were born a dud
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| in a family without sparks
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| Yes you’ve got those chicken wings
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| You just can’t fly
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| The chequered flag
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| that losers despise
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| never flew in our port
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| or harboured in our eyes
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| Cause we always formed that queue
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| for second prize
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| This family’s got those chicken wings
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| we just can’t fly
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| Our winning tickets ripped up into shreds
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| The tale of this family, is its heads
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| We’re bouncing on a pogo stick
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| without any springs
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| It hurts me to admit this
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| but we’ve got those chicken wings
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| Yes you’ve got those chicken wings
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| and all the luggage that the failure brings
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| Is a swallow flying high that sings
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| Look he’s got those chicken wings
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| He may as well die |