| You think that the way to move up in this town
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| Is to bring everyone else around you down
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| You’re climbing a ladder with rubber rungs
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| And nobody cares what you think you have done
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| Faking successes with all the excesses
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| You’re quite the man, such an empty man
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| Your country club life looks so shallow and grim
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| Making your moves as you try to fit in
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| Assuming a status you think others lack
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| Ignoring old friends and turning your back
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| For thoroughbred horses and eighteen hole courses
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| You’re an empty man, such an empty man
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| Faking successes with all the excesses
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| You’re quite the man, such an empty man
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| You worked in old New York to try to fit in
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| The doors were all closed to your kith and kin
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| You fed the fire and fanned all the flames
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| You’ve lost all your old friends by playing new games
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| Faking successes with all the excesses
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| You’re quite the man, such an empty man
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| Faking excesses is what we expected
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| You’re quite the man, you’re an empty man
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| Empty
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| Empty man |