| Well, you don’t know mad from sad
|
| You don’t know explaining from complaining
|
| You don’t know next who you’ll be blaming
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| And you don’t know me at all
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| The ones you’re closest to
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| Should be those really knowing you
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| But you haven’t got a clue
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| Even though you say you do
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| You think you’ve got me figured out
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| You know without a doubt
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| Just who I am
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| And what I’m all about
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| But you don’t know mad from sad
|
| You don’t know explaining from complaining
|
| You don’t know next who you’ll be blaming
|
| And you don’t know me at all
|
| You’ve got me pigeon-holed
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| Cataloged and bought and sold
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| Oh, but truth be told
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| I don’t quite fit your mold
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| But there’s many sides and angles
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| That you haven’t seen
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| And since you haven’t looked
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| You don’t know what I mean
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| If somebody’s being open then it’s moping
|
| You don’t know squawking from just plain talking
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| You don’t even know which way you’re walking
|
| And you don’t know me at all
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| If anyone claims to be
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| As close as you say you are to me
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| And yet has failed to see
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| Never really loved, don’t you agree?
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| If they did they’d show
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| That they don’t know about myself
|
| Instead of shoving me
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| Upon some dusty shelf
|
| But you don’t know mad from sad
|
| You don’t know explaining from complaining
|
| You don’t know next who you’ll be blaming
|
| And you don’t know me at all
|
| If somebody’s being open then it’s moping
|
| You don’t know squawking from just plain talking
|
| You don’t even know which way you’re walking
|
| And you don’t know me at all
|
| No, you don’t know me at all |