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I'm not a ladies' man, I'm a land mine |
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Filming my own fake death |
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Under an '88 Cavalier I go |
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Bu-bu-bu-but nothing but the rear bumper's blown |
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But I was born for this flight |
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United Nine-Fifty-Five on the 5th of July |
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Back to SFO I, I |
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I join the dark side |
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In a thin disguise |
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On consumer-grade video at night |
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Faking suicide for applause in the food courts of malls |
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And cursing racing horses on church steps |
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Playing the wall at singles bingo, all time gringo |
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Did anyone hear me cry there? |
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Through a toilet stall divider |
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I swear, I care |
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God, am I an example of a calculated birth |
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To a star chart for clowns? |
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I'm not |
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Under robins' eggs in a nest |
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You hid a manila envelope with one last little robin's egg in it |
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A hollow bullet yet spent |
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Subject to dismissal, I wish all my pitfalls could be caught by this call |
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Cheeri-a, Cheerie-e, Cheeri-i, Cheeri-o, Cheeri-u |