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The ship of fools is coming in |
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Take me off i've got to eat |
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Same old stories same old thing |
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Letting out and pulling in |
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Mister, there's a caravan parked out back |
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Restless hoping for a christian rider |
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The black book, a grappling hook |
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A hangman's noose on a burnt out tree |
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Guess we must be getting close to tombstone |
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The last time we had eaten |
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Was when the flies were going for free |
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You could count the hardships by the open doors |
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But sandwiched in between |
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Were the fishermen who still |
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Wished they could sail from tenessee to arizona |
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So hold on, won't be long |
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The call is on the line |
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Hold on, sister's gone |
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South to give the sign |
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We picked up dracula in memphis |
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It was just about the break of day |
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And then hastily prayed for out souls to be saved |
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There was something in the air that made us kind of weary |
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By the time we got to swansea it was getting dark |
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Tumble, jungles, bugles and the prize |
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The tides turned west at amerforth |
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As if they didn't know what to do |
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But garnant stood its ground and asked for more |
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All the people seemed quite glad to see us |
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Shaking hands and smiling like the clock |
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Well we gave them all the message then |
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That the ship of fools was in |
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Make sure they get home for christmas |
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So hold on, won't be long |
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The call is on the line |
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So hold on, sister's gone |
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South to give the sign |