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I'm feelin' mighty lonesome, |
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haven't slept a wink; |
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I walk the floor from nine to four |
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in between I drink |
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Black coffee |
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love's a hand-me-down brew. |
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I'll never know a Sunday in this weekday room. |
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I'm talkin to the shadows |
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one o'clock till four, |
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And Lord, how slow the moments go |
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when all I do is pour |
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Black coffee |
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since the blues caught my eye; |
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I'm hangin' out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry. |
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Now man is born to come a-lovin', |
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And a woman's born to weep and fret |
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To stay at home and tend her oven |
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And down her past regrets |
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in coffee and cigarettes. |
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I'm moanin' all the mornin', |
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moanin' all the night |
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And in between it's nicotine |
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and not much heart to fight. |
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Black coffee |
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feelin' low as the ground. |
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It's drivin' me crazy, |
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this waitin' for my baby |
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'Til he come around, 'til he come around |