| St. Jimmy’s comin' down across the alleyway
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| Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade
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| Lights on the silhouette, he’s insubordinate
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| Coming at you on the count of one, two
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| One, two, three, four!
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| My name is Jimmy, and you better not wear it out
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| Suicide commando that your momma talked about
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| King of the forty thieves, and I’m here to represent
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| The needle in the vein of the establishment
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| I’m the patron saint of the denial
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| With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
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| Cigarettes and ramen and a little bag of dope
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| I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allan Poe
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| Raised in the city in the halo of lights
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| Product of war and fear that we’ve been victimized
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| I’m the patron saint of the denial
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| With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
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| Are you talking to me?
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| I’ll give you something to cry about
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| Shh! |
| Shh! |
| Shh! |
| St. Jimmy!
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| My name is St. Jimmy, I’m a son of a gun
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| (Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, St. Jimmy)
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| I’m the one that’s from the way outside, now
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| A teenage assassin executing some fun
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| (Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, St. Jimmy)
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| In the cult of the life of crime, now
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| I really hate to say it, but I told you so
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| (Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, St. Jimmy)
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| So shut your mouth before I shoot you down, ol' boy
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| Welcome to the club and give me some blood
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| (Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, St. Jimmy)
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| I’m the resident leader of the lost and found
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| It’s comedy and tragedy
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| It’s St. Jimmy, and that’s my name
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| And don’t wear it out! |