| I want to go to heaven for the weather
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| But hell for the company
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| I want to go to heaven for the weather
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| But hell seems like fun to me
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| There’s something in the sun this day, I feel it
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| Or maybe it’s just my hay fever
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| The weeds are green, the sky is shining
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| But it’ll soon be night which is nicer
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| But then cracks peel back and hell bends the room
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| And the devil gestures to you
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| You, you’ve never seen such a Beelzebub
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| And he’s telling you to make up your bean about what’s left of your evening
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| About whether to flake out or fecking stay out
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| What do you make of this doubt?
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| The devil wants to know if you’re going down or up
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| Easy -- I know what my speech should be
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| The devil beams a big beaming grin
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| The sort which leads you up the streets of sin
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| He holds up paperwork -- sign the line
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| Let’s clash with madmen, grime is fine
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| It sounds all hectic, you’re having cold feet
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| Things are out of hand, you make an embarrassing retreat
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| Let’s ride the Valkyrie, commit a bit of sin
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| Turn rock to rubble, punch me in the chin
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| I simply, Lucifer, refuse to wind up on fire with low-life liars
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| Then you’re destined for the world without chores and sweating
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| The eternal hell of boredom in heaven
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| You tell the devil in no uncertain terms
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| You’ll never be evil, you’ll never be turned
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| What is this evil? |
| And who decides this?
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| When left to devices some humans try shit
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| This is the reason we should all be tied up?
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| We’re just normal people exploring our minds
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| We don’t go around here putting poison in wine
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| But we enjoy what we like which is not always right
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| People are intricate, people aren’t swines
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| Let’s screw the rules up and rely on our minds
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| Sign on the line
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| You sign on the line
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| He clutches the wine and tips in cyanide |