| I’m Palm Palm head and I wrote one good song
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| But that was almost 20 years ago
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| I tried and I tried to follow it up
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| But you know how those sophomore jinxes go
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| So I became quite bitter
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| As sales dropped like flies
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| No one likes these dumb songs
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| Of racing cars and spies
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| Maybe it’s my ape drape
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| Or hippies in my band
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| But now we only tour
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| In Arizona or Japan
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| So after much thought and a panel of experts
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| I came up with a brilliant little plan
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| I’ll take out my frustrations
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| On one of these ungrateful new punk rock bands
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| Cuz I invented socks
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| And I invented gravy
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| I made up the cotton gin
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| But no one ever paid me
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| Why beat a dead horse
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| With a career that is cursed?
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| I’ll just sue for royalties
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| On things I thought of first
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| Back in Ancient Egypt many Pharaohs went to jail
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| For misappropriation of my Phrigian scale
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| I said listen to Tutankhamen, you’re driving me insane
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| It’s obvious those bellies are all dancing to Bloodstains
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| I figured out you owe me and please try not to laugh
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| But every time I hear it I get one more golden calf
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| So I’ve bitten off a sizable chunk
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| Of the hands of the people with the food
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| Now I’m confined to the pages of Flipside
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| A graveyard of punk rock’s 35 year old dudes
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| So I invented socks
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| And I invented gravy
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| I made up the cotton gin
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| But no one ever paid me
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| Why beat a dead horse
|
| With a career that is cursed?
|
| I’ll just sue for royalties
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| On things I thought of first
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| Palm Palm!
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| Palm Palm!
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| Palm Palm!
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| Palm Palm!
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| Ape Drape!
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| Ape Drape!
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| Poodle Head!
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| Poodle Head! |