| Framed up baby, know her place
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| Slippery salmon all over her face
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| Browsing down through the mirrored hall
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| See Arizona standing ten feet tall
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| Her father’s smart, plays his part
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| Twirls his star and watch them start
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| Oh no no don’t wander off the set
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| We haven’t reached the borders yet
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| Then into town he rides in grim
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| All the mercenaries are following him
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| Ripped and raw, lays his glove on the door
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| Walks in and tells the man on the floor
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| Maybe these boys want to do some talking
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| Your room’s a mess, it’s ugliness
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| But I go on living in it till you say yes
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| The curtains are new, but the windows are old
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| All the stories passing through already been told
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| We live in a style where trust is a drag
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| To hold up your end means the middle will sag
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| Some blackhearted actors interfered in your scene
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| And you can’t stand success or the place where it’s been
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| The fader’s been placed, judgment passed down
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| Staying up all night till pure sleep drags you down
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| Ripped and raw, her voice at the door
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| Walks in, expecting him, finds something more
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| Says maybe these boys want to do some talking |