| Hip-pocket flask at the ready
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| Step-light downed by the glass, yeah
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| Honey, what’s that nail doing in my head?
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| Just a minute ago I was shooting from a saddle
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| Yeah, I got a spur and a horse high shooting from a saddle
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| Oh I’m knee deep in salt and shoe grease
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| Whipping the leather with a fine toothed crack
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| All the words are candy, rot out my brain
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| With a nail twisting front hot here
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| Nail twisting hot front up to back
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| He didn’t know this triumph is nothing like waste
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| The smell of my youth in a brown paper sack
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| I’m gonna shake it night and throw it in the oven
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| Just throw it in the oven
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| You can warm it up soft like it was a day old
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| Or as stale and hard like a coroner’s wife
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| And I look in the rear view mirror
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| With the headlights up there behind
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| Melt into wax, ice and candy cigarettes
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| In vampire teeth and black-eyed snowmen
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| Vampire teeth and black-eyed snowmen
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| It’s a hundred degrees, my boots are soaked to the tongue
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| Covered in misty aberration, souls are holes, yeah, in a frame
|
| And souls are holes, it’s in the frame of a
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| Picture of a madman hanging on a wall
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| Picture of a madman hanging on a red wall
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| Down the hall on the right, all night, paces reverently Mr. My Go
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| Are you ready? |
| Let’s hit that man
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| Let us hit, let’s do this, let’s hit that man
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| Well, let’s visit that neighbors that never come home
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| From a costume ball no one goes to alone
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| Man, let’s visit the neighbors that never come home
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| Gone to the costume ball no one goes to alone |