| Beware of the postman, beware of the postman,
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| Tracked down a living hell, tracked down a living hell.
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| Don’t like my guitar, don’t change my sky,
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| Leave down that power trip, leave down that power trip.
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| Cloud spread out, put down my letters,
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| Turn it up, he’s gonna get us.
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| Lost his map, he’s in rush now,
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| Too much gold, seat I sold.
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| Rage pills and nikeon tax,
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| Love letters and paper bags,
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| Post caps beneath them all,
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| They won’t come, ‘cause they got sore.
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| Maybe love stop make them want
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| It’s have and then have them sore.
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| Top hat may give an eye,
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| His house maybe his empire.
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| Cloud spread out, put down my letters,
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| Turn it up, he’s gonna get us.
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| Lost his map, he’s in rush now,
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| Too much gold, seat I sold.
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| All is mismade, soothe that stress,
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| I snatch out to your bedroom, heal my chills.
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| That you can’t see, I’ll head in west,
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| Just as there’s no see-through control.
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| Beware of the postman, beware of the postman,
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| Beware of the postman,
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| Tracked down a living hell, tracked down a living hell.
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| Lie, lie, lie, lie. |