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You walk into the room |
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With your pencil in your hand |
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You see somebody naked |
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And you say, "Who is that man?" |
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You try so hard |
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But you don't understand |
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Just what you'll say |
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When you get home |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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You raise up your head |
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And you ask, "Is this where it is?" |
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And somebody points to you and says |
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"It's his" |
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And you say, "What's mine?" |
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And somebody else says, "Where what is?" |
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And you say, "Oh my God |
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Am I here all alone?" |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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You hand in your ticket |
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And you go watch the geek |
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Who immediately walks up to you |
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When he hears you speak |
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And says, "How does it feel |
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To be such a freak?" |
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And you say, "Impossible" |
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As he hands you a bone |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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You have many contacts |
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Among the lumberjacks |
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To get you facts |
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When someone attacks your imagination |
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But nobody has any respect |
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Anyway they already expect you |
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To just give a check |
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To tax-deductible charity organizations |
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You've been with the professors |
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And they've all liked your looks |
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With great lawyers you have |
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Discussed lepers and crooks |
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You've been through all of |
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F. Scott Fitzgerald's books |
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You're very well read |
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It's well known |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you |
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And then he kneels |
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He crosses himself |
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And then he clicks his high heels |
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And without further notice |
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He asks you how it feels |
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And he says, "Here is your throat back |
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Thanks for the loan" |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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Now you see this one-eyed midget |
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Shouting the word "NOW" |
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And you say, "For what reason?" |
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And he says, "How?" |
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And you say, "What does this mean?" |
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And he screams back, "You're a cow |
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Give me some milk |
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Or else go home" |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |
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Well, you walk into the room |
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Like a camel and then you frown |
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You put your eyes in your pocket |
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And your nose on the ground |
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There ought to be a law |
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Against you comin' around |
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You should be made |
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To wear earphones |
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Because something is happening here |
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But you don't know what it is |
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Do you, Mister Jones? |