| Yeah
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| Six years and two scores
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| He walked in the saloon door
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| With a well-groomed board
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| Looking for room and bored
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| Tarot read: doom in a door but he moved forward
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| His holster rubbing his silk
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| Saloon keep slid him a beer
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| Slid it back cause I was asking for a cup of milk
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| Everyone had laughed until they seen the trick up his sleeve
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| That his cuff had revealed
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| Had a whole musket concealed
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| Not a soul laughed at his milk mustache
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| But after that one
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| Placed a bayonet upon a cap gun
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| Bartender lady asked him where he snatched his hat from
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| Though true, it’s so rude of you to assume it’s stolen
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| Then she bent to whisper in his ear and said
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| The fruit was chosen
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| Dude was blowing a golden fruit and poaching
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| And pointed to a jacket in the distance
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| Double backed to grab it with a witness seeing what happened when he put it on
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| Poof he was gone
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| Popped up somewhere he didn’t belong
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| Lady with the cybernetic legs seen him and asked her what year it was
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| She said 3018, she pulled a laser out, he grabbed a hatchet
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| Lacking in tactics he was almost dead but then he was saved by his magic jacket
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| The adventure took a full turn when he appeared in 2001
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| Smack dab in front of an Alaskan bull worm
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| They say legends never die
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| Man on top of the worm let him slide with a packet of ketchup on his side
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| Wow, what a clever guy, bragging about vehicles he would never drive
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| And girls he wouldn’t look dead in the eye
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| He thought to stay in this year, the future had him petrified, and the near
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| future made him dead inside
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| Dropped a banana crepe in his ride and it stained the floor
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| Took his jacket off, he didn’t wanna play these games no more
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| Things just ain’t the same no more
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| They just ain’t the same no more |