| Chance are for many, fortunes are for few
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| you might just earn a penny, but you’re lucky if you do
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| and you watch the backstreet idols, screaming current insurrection
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| and the money-boxes smile and say «right on»
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| but the moment he starts slipping, then the exit is so greasy,
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| he’s half way to forgotten, 'fore he’s gone
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| you can talk of million sellers, cruising yachts and limousines
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| and of houses without number, and a world to call your own
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| but for every new Onasis, with a starlet at his elbow
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| there’s so many who won’t see the light of day
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| for it isn’t just the music, it’s the twenty-five percenters
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| and the business smiles who finally have their say
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| crawling to newsmen, who hide in the bar while you play
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| three lines if you’re lucky, we’ve heard it before, anyway
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| you can thank sweet inspiration, for giving you a helping hand
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| and the songs you play for jokers, are the only cards to save your hand
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| for the race is run by many, with their wild dream aspirations
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| but of true survivors, sadly there are few
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| and for every ageing rock star, who sold his soul to boredom
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| there’s so many, given the chance would do it to
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| and when you fall, they don’t know you at all
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| and after all |