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Shakey Davey's got a twelve gauge in his hand |
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It's sawed off to the limit |
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He's got a vague plan |
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There's this liquor store on |
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Madison There's another one down on |
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Washington square |
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He's pretty sure no one's ever seen him |
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Down around there |
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The first one's birdshot the next four are double aught buck |
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The last one's a slug just for good luck |
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He's got his works in his pocket |
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He wants to score as soon as he's done |
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He can't wait to get straight to get long gone |
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He puts on his long coat scribbles off a short note |
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Sits himself down and waits for the sun to go down |
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It's right around midnight and there's still too damn many people on this street |
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He's walked all the way from |
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Battery Park he's got sweaty hands and burnin' feet |
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He's desperate for a fix |
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His body's screamin' "Get me high" |
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He bursts through the door and lets one fly |
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Sunrise in the park and |
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Davey's cold as stone |
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He got some bad merchandise and he was all alone |
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Two more unsolved mysteries a iot of paper pushed around |
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Most folks are just wakin' up in this great big town |