I don¡¯t need a reservation
|
to inhabit my own station
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Honey St. is hard to swallow
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But I got orders to follow
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from higher legislation
|
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Reason¡¯s got no reason to be here
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We don¡¯t operate in your tri-mensional sphere
|
But there¡¯s nothing like isolation
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when you¡¯re singing for salvation
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But to be solo(w) is just that
|
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Dirt is not an opposition
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To bar white-trash coalition
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Maturity is not our style
|
like junkyards to grow wild
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Not a standard transmission
|
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It¡¯s a 3:00 a.m. religion
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Soulitude a group decision
|
Sucrose levels pop the roof
|
And humor brews at 180 proof
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When friends become pigeons
|
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Keep your problems to yourself
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Let them bother no one else
|
And we can live freely
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In piles of dirt paintings and profanity
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And if you need to speak to me
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I will be hidden safely
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In my underground cavern of sleep and humidity
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So pass the dust and dusty relics
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Reflecting the past
|
When someone asks you how you are
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There¡¯s only one answer for them
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And it goes: I¡¯m doin¡¯ alright
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Did I mention that I¡¯m broke?
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Lumas
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Gruvis Malt |