| I broke free on a Saturday morning
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| I put the pedal to the floor
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| Headed north on mills avenue
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| And listened to the engine roar
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| My broken house behind me And good things ahead
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| A girl named Kathy
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| Wants a little of my time
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| Six cylinders underneath the hood
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| Crashing and kicking
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| Aha! |
| Listen to the engine whine
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| I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me I played video games in a drunken haze
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| I was seventeen years young
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| Hurt my knuckles punching the machines
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| The taste of scotch rich on my tongue
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| And then Kathy showed up And we hung out
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| Trading swigs from a bottle
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| All bitter and clean
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| Locking eyes
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| Holding hands
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| Twin high maintenance machines
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| I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me I drove home in the California dusk
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| I could feel the alcohol inside of me hum
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| Pictured the look on my stepfather’s face
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| Ready for the bad things to come
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| I down shifted as I pulled into the driveway
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| The motor screaming out
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| Stuck in second gear
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| The scene ends badly
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| As you might imagine
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| In a cavalcade of anger and fear
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| There will be feasting and dancing
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| In Jerusalem next year
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| I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me I am going to make it through this year
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| If it kills me |