| I’ve got a job, I explore
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| I follow every little whiff
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| And I want my life to smell like this
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| To find a place, an ancient race
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| The kind you’d like to gamble with
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| Where they’d stamp on burning bags of shit
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| Looking for a place to happen
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| Making stops along the way, hey
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| Wayward ho, away we go
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| It’s a shame to leave this masterpiece
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| With its gallery gods and its garbage bag trees
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| So I’ll paint a scene from memory
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| So I’d know who murdered me
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| It’s a vain pursuit but it helps me to sleep
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| Looking for a place to happen
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| Making stops along the way, hey
|
| Looking for a place to happen
|
| Making stops along the way, hey
|
| Looking for a place to happen
|
| Making stops along the way, hey
|
| Jacques Cartier, right this way
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| I’ll put your coat up on the bed
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| Hey, man, you’ve got the real bum’s eye for clothes
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| And come on in, sit right down
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| No, you’re not the first to show
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| We’ve all been here since, God, who knows?
|
| Looking for a place to happen
|
| Making stops along the way, hey
|
| Looking for a place to happen
|
| Making stops along the way, hey |
| Jacques Cartier, right this way
|
| I’ll put your coat up on the bed
|
| You’ve got the real bum’s eye for clothes
|
| And come on in, sit right down
|
| We’ve all been here since, God, who knows? |