| I know these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Every single cure seems to be against the law
|
| Went and told my psychic
|
| I said «Keep it to yourself.
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| I don’t wanna hear it and don’t be telling no one else.»
|
| Word’s out on the street
|
| Whispers in the night
|
| They come out of the woodwork, wanna see what it’s like
|
| Pickle-ickle-ickle
|
| Gonna run that voodoo down
|
| How the crowd gets fickle when your face is to the ground!
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Now I’m shaking all over
|
| I’m a shattering mass
|
| But I’m gonna sit up straight
|
| I’m going to take it with class
|
| Old man used to tell me
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| «Son, never look back,
|
| Move on to the next case.
|
| Fold your clothes and pack.»
|
| To the green horned chicken hoppers I say
|
| «Get yourself a trade,
|
| Or go hack to the chat room and fade in the shade»
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| I know these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Every single cure seems to be against the law
|
| I was walking pretty well then I fell into a hole
|
| I should climb out quick, but I hate doing what I’m told
|
| Got a wang-dang-doodle wrapped in bog snake hide
|
| This goat head gumbo is keeping me alive
|
| I don’t want your pity or your fifty-dollar words
|
| I don’t share your need to discuss the absurd
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
|
| Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw |