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Pavlov hits me with more bad news every time I answer the phone |
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so I play and I sing and I just let it ring, |
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all day when I'm at home |
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a defacto choice of |
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macro-microcosmic melancholy |
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but baby any way you slice it, |
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I'm thinkin I could just as soon use the time alone |
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yeah the goons have gone global |
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and the CEO's are shredding files |
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and the democrans and the republicrats |
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are flashing their toothy smiles |
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and Uncle Tom is posing for a photo-op with the oval office klan |
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and Uncle Sam is riggin' cockfights in the promised land |
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and that knife you stuck in my back is still there |
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it pinches a little when I sigh and moan |
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and these days I'm thinkin I could just as soon use the time alone |
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cause all the wrong people have the power of suggestion |
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and the freedom of the press is meaningless if nobody asks the question |
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I mean causation by definition is such a complex compilation of factors |
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that to even try to say why is to oversimplify |
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that's a far cry, isn't it dear, from acting like you're the only one there |
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unrepentantly self-centered and unfair |
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enter all suckers scrambling for the truth |
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exit mr. eye-contact who took his flirt and flew the coup |
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but whatever, no matter, no fishin trips, no fishin |
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cause momma's officially out of commission |
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and did I mention in there somewhere |
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did I mention somewhere in there |
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that I traded Babe Ruth, |
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yes I traded the only player |
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that was bigger than the game |
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and I can't even tell you why, |
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cause you'd think I'm insane. |
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and that's the truth |
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and the music industry mafia is pimping girl power |
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sniping off sharp-shooter singles from their styrofoam towers, |
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and hip-hop is tied up in the back room with a logo stuffed in its mouth |
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cause the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house |
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but then, I'm getting away from myself |
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as I get closer and closer home |
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and the difference between you and me baby |
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is I get ****ed up when I'm alone |
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and I must admit today |
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that my inner pessimist seems to have gotten the best of me |
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we start out sugared up on kool aid and manifest destiny |
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and then we memorize all the presidents names like little trained monkeys |
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and we spit into the world so many spinny-eyed TV junkies |
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incapable of unraveling the military-industrial mystery |
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pre-emptively passified with history book history |
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and I've been around the world now and I can see this about America |
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the mind control is deep here, man |
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the myopia is steep here, man |
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and behold those who try to expose the reality |
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really try to realize democracy |
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are shot with rubber bullets and gassed off the streets |
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while the global power brokers are kept clean and discreet |
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behind a wall |
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behind a moat |
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and that is all |
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that's all |
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that's all she wrote |
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and my heart beats an s-s-s o-o-o s-s-s |
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cause folks just really couldn't care-care-care less-less-less |
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as long as every day is superbowl sunday |
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and larger than life women in lingerie are pouting at us from every bus stop |
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she loves me, she loves me not |
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she loves me, she loves me not |
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she loves me, she loves me not |
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and 'big government should not stand between a man and his money' |
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i mean, 'what's good for business is good for the country' |
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our children still take that lie like communion, |
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the same old line the Confederacy used on the Union |
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conjugate liberty into libertarian |
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and medicated associated with deregulation privitization |
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we won't even know we're slaves on a corporate plantation |
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somebody say hallelujah, |
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somebody say damnation, |
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cause the profit system follows the path of least resistance |
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and the path of least resistance is what makes the river crooked |
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makes it serpentine |
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capitalism is the devil's wet dream |
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so just give me my Judy garland drugs and let me get back to work |
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cause the empire state building is the tallest building in New York |
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and I have always got the feeling |
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you just like to hear it fall off your tongue |
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but I remember my name in your mouth |
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and I don't think I was done hearing it close to my ear |
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on a whisper's way to a moan |
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Pavlov hits me with more bad news every time I answer the phone |
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so I play and I sing and just let it ring, |
|
all day when I'm at home |
|
a defacto choice of |
|
macro-microcosmic melancholy |
|
but baby any way you slice it, |
|
I'm thinkin I could just as soon use the time alone |