| Bobs
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| Plugged
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| Tattoo Me Now
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| I’m not the prisoner of my skin
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| It’s flexible and paper thin
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| I’m breaking out to let you in
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| Where I get pierced with a little pin
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| Little pricks I could hardly feel --
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| Tiny little needles made of steel
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| I make a statement, hear my cry --
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| Something I’ll have past the day that I die
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| I was inspired by the illustrated man --
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| I got my first butterfly on my can
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| I’m running out of room I can’t find a place --
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| I’ll have to put the Last Supper on my face
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| Tattoo, tattoo me now tattoo ow
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| I can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery --
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| Unless before I die I become very hairy
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| I can’t get a job that means anything --
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| But I can always get a nipple ring
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| A pattern of scars filled with ink --
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| Like vacation postcards don’t you think?
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| Running from my ankle all the way to my breast --
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| Is a map of my vacation in the wild wild west
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| Tattoo, tattoo me now tattoo ow
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| My body is a canvas -- a picture I control
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| A gallery of images -- I worship every hole
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| The back’s an empty album -- begging for some art |
| Dragons, lizards, ancient gods -- only question -- where to start |