| I was working all night in my office
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| When a man I had recently killed
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| Called me up from a phone near my building
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| So I looked out the window at him
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| He had the same obsequious manner
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| That was the reason I had him killed
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| So to calm my nerves I sang this song
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| To him, over the phone
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| Turn around, turn around
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| There’s a thing there that can be found
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| Turn around, turn around
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| It’s a human skull on the ground
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| Human skull on the ground
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| Turn around
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| I was out by myself in the graveyard
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| I was doing an interpretive dance
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| When I felt something heavy and pointed
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| Strike me in the back of my neck
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| And then the ghost of my dance instructor
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| Pushed me down into an open grave
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| And as dirt rained down she played a xylophone
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| And sang me this song
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| We were waving our arms out the window
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| Of a fast moving passenger train
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| Acting in an irresponsible fashion
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| Until the engineer whose back had been turned
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| And who we thought would find us highly amusing
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| Quickly swiveled his head around
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| And his face which was a paper-white mask of evil
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| Sang us this song
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| Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
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| There’s a thing there that can be found (There's a thing there that can be—)
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| Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
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| It’s a human skull on the ground (It's a human skull on the—)
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| Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
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| Turn around (Turn around, turn around) |