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If you ask me what streets I'm from |
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You'd probably laugh at me |
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You'd expect me to tell you tales |
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Of friends I'd made ran into trouble with |
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And all those sorts of things |
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If you ask me what songs I know |
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You'd raise your hands in the air |
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They're not cool, they're not hip |
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They're not the ones you grew up with |
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And all those sorts of things |
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If you ask about the clothes I swear |
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You wouldn't give the time of day |
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They're not rude, they're not hip |
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They're not ones you would be seen in |
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If you were down to your last penny |
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If you were down to your last penny |
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If you ask about technology |
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You'd roll your eyes in your head |
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I am one of those fundies who keep up |
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So as not to get left behind |
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And all those sorts of things |
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All those sorts of things |
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But ask me about |
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What I know of the original source |
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What I know about what makes you sore |
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When you're out in the world alone |
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Ask me about birds |
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Ask me about flowers |
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Ask me about smiling easily |
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With someone you've only met that day |
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My little brother didn't come to school today |
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The teacher didn't seem to know exactly what to say |
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But I saw him out the window |
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Gold chiffon and pink flamingo |
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Oh, those diamond rings |
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He was younger than I remember |
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Singing glory hallelujah |
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I am free of this |
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All those sorts of things |
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I asked him about |
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What he knew of the original source |
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What he knew about what makes me sore |
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When I'm out in the world alone |
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Asked him about birds |
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Asked him about flowers |
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Asked him about smiling easily |
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With someone he'd only met that day |
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Asked him about groove |
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Asked him about mothers |
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Asked him about sunshine in the streets |
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And faded rain on your windowpane |
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On truth I'll keep you inspired |
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Ask me about the hours in your garden |
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Baby, oh how I loved your face |