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We spend our childhood nights |
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In the warm suburban lights |
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All the surfers and the punks |
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They all scared me |
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And we hopped the Mission walls |
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And we'd run through longest halls |
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To courtyard where the girl |
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Gave hands to me |
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And the memories that I have |
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Of my beautifully fucked-up Dad |
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Are the strangest memories |
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That I have |
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He broke my Mom's heart |
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And he tore us all apart |
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But the magic in his smile |
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Brought him back to me |
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And the memories that I have |
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Of my beautifully messed-up Dad |
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Are the strangest memories |
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That I have |