| Night though I do not sleep
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| I dream of the park up the road
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| I open the bushes, a couple of lovers
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| Trying to be (lust-rockers)
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| And although my spouse is in the other room
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| I think we can do it here
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| Yes, uh, and she makes me pay
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| For every girl I have the guts to look at
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| Anyway here, quiet here
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| You thought it’d be great
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| You thought it’d be great
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| But a good mind does not a good fuck make
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| I take you to the park up the road
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| But here is the rain
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| Rain makes policemen no threat
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| Turns cars into little specks
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| Muffles the shouts of your neighbour
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| And we will have sex here
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| Here, here
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| Couch, shagged out
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| There’s no hard-ons
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| It’s just come and it’s gone
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| I’m becoming everything I used to hate
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| But I can’t go back there
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| Not back there, I can’t go back there
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| Not back to the park
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| The brown monk ghost’ll catch us
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| And make us lust-rockers
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| Make us wear huckleberry masks and, uh, huckleberry masks
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| You sing you don’t believe in (couples)
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| But I can’t believe that
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| Especially the crap about the huckleberry masks |