| Mowing lawns saving up for a guitar
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| when I was fifteen and long and lean
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| and just like that grass, boy I was green
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| delivering roses in Washington D.C.
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| going off to college so I had to save up
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| but delivering roses really sucks
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| sweating all summer in a slimy tux
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| but at least I made a couple bucks
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| freshman in college I was delivering pizza
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| but to deliver one pie was a half an hour round trip
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| and college kids, man they don’t tip
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| so I quit and it was their loss
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| ‘cause i was the only driver not stealing from the boss
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| and siphoning gas from students cars
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| Metropolitan Museum at the telephone switchboard
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| when a caller would ask for Phillip de Montebello
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| I’d transfer them to my apartment
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| where an unsuspecting fellow,
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| my roommate Stewart, would be sound asleep
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| he’d answer the calls when he heard the beep
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| pretty quick they’d realize he wasn’t Phillip
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| information counter at the Cloisters Museum
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| and one day Billy Joel walks in
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| I take a long long look at him
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| a dignified old music man
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| and that’s when I devised my plan
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| and that little plan has brought me here
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| where the spotlight shines and the people all cheer
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| and the pretty girls flock from far and near
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| to touch my hand and hear my song
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| and buy my t-shirts and sing along
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| goddamn this sure beats moving lawns |