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The car that parked on the pavement narked |
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Pedestrians and children with chalk. |
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Their games, their shapes, their capers, their japes |
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Destroyed by a thoughless shitehawk |
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And yea, though I walk in the road to get past |
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I'm not in the least afraid. |
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For soon I will fly to the great by-and-by |
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Away from a world without shade. |
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A streaker streaks and a nation shrugs |
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At a saucer-like disc in the sky. |
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And stag weekends are poor weekends |
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If the army is not on standby. |
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Pub grub, pub games, pub laughs, pub pains |
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And the pitbull-like strains of kids |
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If Chelsea, Chantelle, or Jordan should yell |
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My fears should relate to my skids |
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The maverick cops with their average plots |
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And boring unorthodox ways. |
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The previous life as a pharoah's wife |
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Is mightily irksome these days. |
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The Lady in Red hides under the bed |
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From a husband who quotes Chubby Brown. |
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It's cold and it's wet, and a knell of regret |
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Is pealing throughout every town. |
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Is pealing throughout every town. |
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(Amen) |