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There's an old virginian vibraphone |
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With a calculated gait |
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And a man who thinks he's al capone |
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With a cumberbund and cape |
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Don't criticize what a vicar would prize in you |
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And talk to the man if you feel he needs talking to |
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And the hobbit on the rocks is crying |
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And the fish upon the docks are dying |
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There's an orchestra in rococo |
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And an insulated dwarf |
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And the ships are sinking in the sea |
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As they sail from the shores |
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Don't criticize what a vicar would prize in you |
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And the hobbit on the rocks is crying |
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And the fish upon the docks are dying |
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And the hobbit on the rocks is crying |
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For the grunion in the sand entwining |
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Don't criticize what a vicar would prize in you |
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And talk to yourself if you feel you need talking to |