| We were riding out
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| With our heads in the sky
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| We were ten and twelve and thirteen
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| We got BB guns and dirt bikes
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| And heads full of crowded dreams
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| We always won
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| In the hot suburban sun
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| We were kings of the west side track
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| These new kids over cross slater street
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| Coming on like a heart attack
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| Mama says
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| Where are ya going?
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| And when will you be coming home?
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| With my brother and my memory
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| I’ll bring my history home
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| Sealed with piss and with pride
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| Through the streets we would ride
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| Over cracks in the dirt and the weeds
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| We’d best be home by suppertime
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| Just in time to craft a scheme
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| If you’ve got my back
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| Here’s the plan of attack
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| Listen up if you would boys please
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| We’ll hit these pussies round midnight
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| And roll off like a band of thieves
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| Mama says
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| Where are ya going?
|
| And when will you be coming home?
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| With my brother and my memory
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| I’ll bring my history home
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| With quivering eyes
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| And our fear in disguise
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| We gathered all that would burn in the breeze
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| We hit the asphalt howling like hell fire
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| Had no time to get weak in the knees
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| Under the cover of night
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| When the timing was right
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| Like a furious army of three
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| We’d light up the sky like the fourth of July
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| And race home like it was a dream
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| And Mama yells
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| Where have ya been?
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| And where the hell are ya coming from?
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| With my brother and my memory
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| I’ll bring my victory home
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| With my brother and my memory
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| I’ll bring my history home |