| Couldn’t make no money as a singer
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| Didn’t seem to get too far
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| So I sell pot brownies and Vicodin
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| From the back seat of my car
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| Movin' back to Chicago
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| Gonna rest my achin' head
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| Spotify took my last 2 cents
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| And the butter for my bread
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| Gene Simmons said it
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| Rock and roll is dead
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| Rock and roll is dead
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| I never did it for the money
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| I only did it to get laid
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| But I can’t buy shots for the ladies
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| If there’s no way to get paid
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| Now I can’t make money on my good looks
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| Can’t make it on applause
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| So I sell nose beers to the kiddos
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| And thumb my own nose at the laws
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| But I’m never ever gonna stop playing
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| Even though rock and roll ain’t paying
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| Cuz heavy metal rules, heavy metal rules
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| Heavy metal rules, heavy metal rules
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| Heavy metal rules
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| And everybody else can suck my dick
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| Gonna make my money stealing hub caps
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| And selling black tar on the streets
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| Taking handbags from old ladies
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| While they respond to Trumpy’s Tweets
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| Apple came to town a ringing
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| A death knell for the band
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| If I can’t make money selling records
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| I’m gonna make it any way I can
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| And I’m gonna keep on rocking your ass
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| As long as I’m on the right side of the grass
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| Cuz heavy metal rules, heavy metal rules (Madonna — she’s a dick!)
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| Heavy metal rules, heavy metal rules (That punk shit belongs on Mars!)
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| Heavy metal rules, heavy metal rules (Dokken, Van Halen, they all fucking rule!)
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| Heavy metal rules
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| And everybody else can suck my fucking dick |