| Well I woke up this morning
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| The place was such a reck
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| I couldnt reach the bathroom
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| Thought Id better clear the deck
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| I tried to call the lawyer
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| And ask him what to do He referred me to his doctor
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| Who referred me back to you
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| And when you checked the manual
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| You kept in side the case
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| It said put it in a cool dry place
|
| I drove around the city
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| Looking for a room
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| That was high above the water
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| Where my things could be in tune
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| There was no one to help me Nobody even cared
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| I had to got through hell
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| To get those things up there
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| I paid my first subscription
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| Then I joined the idle race
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| And they said store it in a cool dry place
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| I got guitar, basses, amplifiers and drums
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| Accordions and mandolis and things that sometimes hum
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| Cymbals and harmonicas, capos by the score
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| And lots of things in boxes laying all around the floor
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| Some places they get mildew
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| And others get too hot
|
| Some places are so damp that
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| Everything you got just rots
|
| All kinds of condensation
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| Directories of the rain
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| Theres not much compensation
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| When everythings been stained
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| Some have sentimental value that
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| Cannot be erased
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| Go store it in a cool dry place
|
| We got solids and acoustics
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| And some from flowered board
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| And some are trimmed in leather
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| And some are made with gourds
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| Theres organs and trombones
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| And reverbs we can use
|
| Lots of dx-7s
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| And old athletic shoes
|
| I bought a great big building
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| It took up one whole block
|
| I made an inventory
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| Of all the things in stock
|
| The place was getting longer
|
| I was up all night
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| I used up all my pencils
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| But I went onto spite
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| The blury of my vision
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| The sweat upon my face
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| Ive got to put this stuff away
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| I mustnt leave a trace
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| The landlords breathing down my neck
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| He says its a disgrace
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| So I said put it in a cool, dry, place. |