| Paul Williams
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| When a cold wind blows it chills you
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| Chills you to the bone
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| But there’s nothing in nature that
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| freezes your heart
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| Like years of being alone
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| It paints you with indifference
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| Like a lady paints with rouge
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| And the worst of the worst
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| The most hated and cursed
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| Is the one that we call Scrooge (yeah)
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| Unkind as any
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| And the wrath of many
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| This is that Ebenezer Scrooge
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| Oh, there goes Mr. Humbug
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| There goes Mr. Grim
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| If they gave a prize for bein’mean
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| the winner would be him
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| Oh, Scroogey loves his money
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| 'Cause he thinks it gives him power
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| If he became a flavor you can bet he would be sour
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| There goes Mr. Skinflint
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| There goes Mr. Greed
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| The undisputed master of The underhanded deed
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| He charges folks a fortune
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| For his dark and drafty houses
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| As poor folk live in misery
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| It’s even worse for mouses
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| He must be so lonely
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| He must be so sad
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| He goes to extremes
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| To convince us he’s bad
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| He’s really a victim of fear and of pride
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| Look close and there must be a sweet man inside--Naaaah!
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| There goes Mr. Outrage
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| There goes Mr. Sneer
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| He has no time for friends or fun
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| His anger makes that clear
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| Don’t ask him for a favor
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| 'Cause his nastiness increases
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| No crust of bread for those in need
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| No cheeses for us meeses
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| There goes Mr. Heartless
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| There goes Mr. Cruel
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| He never gives
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| He only takes
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| He lets this hunger rule
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| If bein’mean’s a way of life you
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| practice and rehearse
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| Then all that work is paying off
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| 'Cause Scrooge is getting worse
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| Every day
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| In every way
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| Scrooge is getting worse |