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Hand me down a strong panacea, |
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One that's guaranteed to make me feel like Hercules, |
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There's flies everywhere, buzzing in the air, |
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Filling my body with filth and disease....and I think, |
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He thinks he should develop a complex, |
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He thinks that he really owes it to himself, |
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His friends'll all say he's looking sick and unhealthy |
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An' then he can wallow in sweet self-neglect |
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Oh oh yeah...he's gonna |
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Lock himself up in his room |
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Shutter the windows and bolt all the doors, |
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Wrap himself round in his Wall Street cocoon |
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He's painting the ceiling, the walls and the floor, |
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He's gonna lock himself up in his room |
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And when he emerges have a new change of style, |
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He keeps saying things like it's me and Howard Hughes |
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You'd wana watch out for that dangerous smile. |
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Oh, oh yeah.... |