| This is the 3rd of June, 1988
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| A highly unimportant day
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| Some airplane gliding into one of the bigger clouds over Manhattan
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| In a downtown far away, Mr. Toomy, our face in a crowd
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| The city was slow and tired
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| The Wall Street boys wearing their ties around their neck
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| Like boxer’s towels after a fight
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| Mr. Toomy stopped his pinstripe suit outside a barber shop
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| Looked at his face, took off his jacket and stepped on it
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| Who’s that, what’s that, what do you mean
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| I’ll never know where I lost my dream
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| Who’s that, what’s that, gimme your name
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| 3rd of June, end of game
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| No looking to the right
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| No looking to the left
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| Lenny is a target and always on track
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| Lenny is a target and nobody shoots
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| Lenny is a target lost the route
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| Ruins of a child’s old fantasy
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| Ruins of a child was
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| Lenny is a target and nobody shoots
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| Lenny is a target lost the route
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| Who’s that, what’s that, what do you mean
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| I’ll never know when I lost my dream
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| Who’s that, what’s that, gimme your name
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| 3rd of June, end of game
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| Mr. Toomy stopped his pinstripe suit outside a barber shop
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| Looked at his face
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| Took off his jacket
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| Put it on the pavement
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| Stepped on it
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| And started preaching like a monk from another world
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| After some minutes, he had a little crowd
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| Which dissappeared when a police car passed by slowly
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| Like rolling gloom
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| And Mr. Toomy throws his voice 'til he was the only one in the area
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| At this early night of June 3rd, 1988
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| Who’s that, what’s that, what do you mean
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| I’ll never know when I lost my dream
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| Who’s that, what’s that, gimme your name
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| 3rd of June, end of game |