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Well i woke up this morning |
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The place was such a reck |
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I couldn't reach the bathroom |
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Thought i'd better clear the deck |
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I tried to call the lawyer |
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And ask him what to do |
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He referred me to his doctor |
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Who referred me back to you |
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And when you checked the manual |
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You kept in side the case |
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It said put it in a cool dry place |
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I drove around the city |
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Looking for a room |
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That was high above the water |
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Where my things could be in tune |
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There was noone to help me |
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Nobody even cared |
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I had to got through hell |
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To get those things up there |
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I paid my first subscription |
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Then i joined the idle race |
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And they said "store it in a cool dry place" |
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I got guitar, basses, amplifiers and drums |
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Accordions and mandolis and things that sometimes hum |
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Cymbals and harmonicas, capos by the score |
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And lots of things in boxes laying all around the floor |
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Some places they get mildew |
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And others get too hot. |
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Some places are so damp that |
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Everything you got just rots |
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All kinds of condensation |
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Directories of the rain |
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There's not much compensation |
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When everything's been stained |
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Some have sentimental value that |
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Cannot be erased |
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Go store it in a cool dry place |
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We got solids and acoustics |
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And some from flowered board |
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And some are trimmed in leather |
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And some are made with gourds |
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There's organs and trombones |
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And reverbs we can use |
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Lots of dx-7s |
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And old athletic shoes |
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I bought a great big building |
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It took up one whole block |
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I made an inventory |
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Of all the things in stock |
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The place was getting longer |
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I was up all night |
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I used up all my pencils |
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But i went onto spite |
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The blury of my vision |
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The sweat upon my face |
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I've got to put this stuff away |
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I mustn't leave a trace |
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The landlord's breathing down my neck |
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He say's it's a disgrace |
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So i said "put it in a cool, dry, place" |