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Mr Smith makes tacos |
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wearing red uniform |
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This small place is |
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full of people |
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The men order |
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a large sized one |
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and for girls |
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there's a medium |
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but I can eat a whole |
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large sized one |
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Anyway there is |
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Eric who often drop in |
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He visits in alone |
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almost everyday |
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But he doesn't look too lonely |
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and he knows too many things |
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Smith likes to hear his stories |
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Oh Smith |
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Did Eric come today |
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Oh Smith |
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What kind of secrets did he |
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spill to you this time |
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I like to stare |
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when he cooks |
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Even though it's tiny food |
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I can see clear rules |
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between them |
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Smiths moves calmly |
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in sequence |
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When I'm looking at |
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I feel like as if I watch |
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sports doin' alone |
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It's yammy whatever he cooks |
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Especially it goes |
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perfect with coke |
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BUT I have a little problem |
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There are awful herbs in tacos |
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Smith doesn't understand me |
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He doesn't understand me at all |
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Oh Smith |
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Don't put the herbs in that I hate |
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Oh Smith |
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I love you but I'll kill you |
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if you do that again |