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I pride my record collection, it's the only thing I like to do |
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But, my dad insists they're evil things |
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With satanic messages in their grooves |
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He says he knows this for a fact cause the lord told him so |
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And he doesn't want the voice of Satan |
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Raging through his humble home. |
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Those records are the devil's music |
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And no son of mine's gonna listen to them |
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Sorry son, but you have no choice |
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I just can't have you hearing that devil's voice |
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I told him to shut up and he punched my face |
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He then grabbed a sledgehammer from out back |
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And sabotaged my record rack |
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He crushed all my imports and rarities |
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He didn't even save the picture sleeves! |
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Afterwards I felt so weak |
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With each broken record died a part of me |