i woke up at ten this mornin', the same clothes i had on stage..it must have been one million degrees inside the buster stinking from a million mile tour. forgot where the guys slept last night, my hair smelled like smoke and beer. the nice lady on the street asked "are you a band... or just avoiding the impending hand of doom?" drop your hands and kicks those words away. what you're gonna do really matters....just not toady. don't obey what the fake ones all obey. does anyone really want a real one anyway?
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