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I made it up to the fool the wax-faced lap dogs |
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Who set the traps and when you're weak they finally paid you |
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Crave rapid hands |
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With pride and finesse |
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And you could finger through the piles |
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Let all the drummers come to meet the champions |
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Break up your band |
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And blast with the cold next to joy |
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And blast with the cold next to joy |
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Make it stop so you can |
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I'll make all arrangements |
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It has been approved |
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Clip your dreams and push shit through |
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If you could finger through the piles |
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Let all the drummers come to meet the champions |
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Break up your band |
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Stale sexless loud and vague |
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So stop while you can |