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Cory is the one - she'll never ever die young |
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She'll be quite candid |
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And say we were drunks who made her come |
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Running with Revolt and Plutonium |
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In the canyons of Uranium |
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Rolling off roulette on a Rampart Street |
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Here come the King of the Bayou |
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When should a beat get the blues? |
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If its a subway pokergame you lose |
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If the Zulu king is on Main |
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Lets beat the parades and the crowds from the game |
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Rushing through the rush hour on an all-nighter |
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Never seen you look so you |
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The world really looks from the dounut store |
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Such a funny colour in the sun |
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And in his style hes number one |
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Said the monkey of the three wise bums |
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Toting Mezzrow and up to the innocent |
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But he's seen what jammings been done |
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And they're selling tickets to the stadium |
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And the doors to the ceilings or our craniums |
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I was glad we were changing on the gradient |
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They were sweeping up with searchlights made of Radium |
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Everglade funk in a clubtown |
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For once the traffics been conquered by the streets |
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Listening close to the waterpools |
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You can hear the hiss and the leaks |
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And the rattling cans of the shuffling bands |
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Down the avenues of spare change |
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Forty blocks north in your memories |
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In the Indonesian fog and the rain |
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Cory is the one - she'll never die young |
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When should a beat get the blues? |
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If its a subway pokergame you lose |
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Rolling off a roulette on a Rampart Street |
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Here comes the King of the Bayou |