| Inside this house, the walls are paper thin
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| And it don’t take no genius to know what’s goin' on inside
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| You can run and hide, but they know you far too well
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| And see it don’t much to know what’s goin' on inside
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| This house, this house
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| This house, it has no living room
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| This house, this house
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| Well, inside of here, I know it all too well
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| Every single floor that I won’t dwell no more
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| 'Cause this is where I reside
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| It’s no boulevard or drive
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| It’s just me, myself, and I, oh, what a ride, inside
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| This house, this house
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| This house, just has no living room
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| This house, this house
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| It’s the box you come in
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| It’s the body you draw
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| Or the shell that you wearin'
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| 'Til the day that you die
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| It’s your house, your house
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| It’s your house, your house
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| It’s your house, your house
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| It’s your house, your house
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| (Gang, gang, go, go, your house
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| Your house, your house
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| Your house, your house
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| Your house, your house)
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| And everyone that you have loved will meet again
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| And everyone that you have lost will meet again
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| And everyone that you have loved will meet again
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| And everyone that you have lost will meet again
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| And everyone that you have loved will meet again
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| And everyone that you have lost will meet again
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| And everyone that you have loved will meet again
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| And everyone that you have lost will meet again |