| Jews for Jesus, for God’s sake
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| I’ll be damned, I’ll strike blind
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| I’m rated as a dog, that’s a poor choice
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| But I’ll take it, I’ll scrape it, and I’ll fake it
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| Holding your tongues for the rest of the world
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| Get up on the table, give up your ass
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| This is how I like you, strike blind
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| Shake in bed, rage in bed
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| Cage or else, I’ll strike blind
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| Sweet tongue in roses and tungsten steel poses
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| All in a working man’s day
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| I remember those days in September
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| And the bogeys cried chaos
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| If you swing by the string
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| And they know where you’ve been
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| Don’t forget to tell them you saw me
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| No don’t stare at the men who drink to the men
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| The men with the guns in their bellies
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| And you scorn at the girls with their breasts pressed hard
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| Pressed hard up against the window
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| And I’ll kiss you goodbye with a tear in your clothes
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| And the memory of killing so many
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| Young and lusty and jumping jack, move without pain
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| But only at your bidding
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| So get up, you horse, when you feel the earth quake
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| Sweet tongue in roses, and tungsten steel poses
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| All in a working man’s day
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| I remember those days in September
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| And the bogeys cried chaos
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| If you swing by the string and they know where you’ve been
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| Don’t forget to tell them you saw me
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| No don’t stare at the men who drink to the men
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| The men with the guns in their bellies
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| Yes it’s doctors who die of brain tumours
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| And you have the teeth of a carnival promoter
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| And I’ll kiss you goodbye with a tear in your clothes
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| And the memory of killing so many
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| How is my chou-chou, oh where are you now?
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| Yes I’m sometimes a jew, but always a nigger
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| In innocence and guilt, I’ll strike blind!
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| The bitch that bore you is on heat again
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| She is the kind that wins, when the terrible price is paid
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| Honey-bane, all over again
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| Throw your money on the floor
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| Throw back your head, and strike blind!
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| I’ll kick them and tear them, I will never spare them
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| Is love like a killer’s den?
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| If you swing by the string, shout and tell them you saw me
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| And my mother’s a target if they pay me enough
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| And my conscious died with my father
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| Yes it’s doctors who die of brain tumours
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| And you have the teeth of a carnival promoter
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| Well I Kiss you good-bye, if they pay me enough
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| if they pay me enough, I’ll strike blind!
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| And you scorn at the girls with their breasts pressed hard
|
| Pressed hard up against the window
|
| No don’t stare at the men who drink to the men
|
| The men with the guns in their bellies
|
| Yes it’s doctors who die of brain tumours
|
| And you have the teeth of a carnival promoter
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| And I’ll kiss you goodbye with a tear in your clothes
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| And the memory of killing so many |