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I was born and raised with the cross in my face |
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And a mind that was set for pity |
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Not fully grown I was left all alone |
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That's the time I set my eyes on the city |
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Where no cold wind sweep and no willow's weep |
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And no singing in the treetops puts a child to sleep |
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Where the ghosts and creeps |
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Sad-eyed roam the streets |
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And the best minds turning tricks |
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For that sad and angry fix |
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But now I'm through, I'm through, I'm through |
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I'm through, I'm through singing 'bout the city |
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(Singing 'bout the city, singing 'bout the city) |
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I was all knocked down as I came to town |
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I was smug as a bug and pretty |
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I was led to believe that a little less self-esteem |
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Was required to survive in the city |
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In the high-end streets where the faces meet |
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Who are daring for a sharing on the toilet seats |
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But I've had my fill of cheap boudoir thrills |
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Hallelujah, - I am coming |
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Bring the fattened calf and sing |
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Now I'm through, I'm through, I'm through |
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I'm through, I'm through singing 'bout the city |
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(Singing 'bout the city, singing 'bout the city) |
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In the summertime in the dry hot town |
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Sun is high and ambition is low |
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When the sewers seethe there's no air to breathe |
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And when no place feels like home |
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In the summertime in the countryside |
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Where the birches and long grass grow |
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And the small birds sing and the church-bell ring |
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And the gentle warm winds blow |
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I guess I really should have known |
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There's only one place left to go |
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This time I'm really coming home |
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I'm gonna spread my wings |
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Gonna leave everything |
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Far behind that's unsound and shitty |
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I'm free at last, it's all in the past |
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Fooling round like a clown in the city |
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Where no pine and spruce lend a home to the moose |
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And no brown bears sleep and no rabbits snooze |
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In the open wild you get warm and mild |
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Turning playboys to the ploughboys |
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That they are inside |
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Where the green crops grow and the rivers flow |
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Where lakes glitter, small birds twitter |
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Oh, I sure could think of worse! |
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It's the Springsteen curse but this time it's in reverse |
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Life's a pity in the city Hell, what does Bruce know about spruce? |
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Oh, I'm through, I'm through, I'm through |
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I'm through, I'm through, I'm through, I'm through |
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I'm through... |
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Singing 'bout the city, yeaheah |