| What’s a pretty little thing like you
|
| Doin' in this dingy old back room?
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| I got some candy
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| A piece for every bruise
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| You can grab it if it’s handy, cuz any cock’ll do
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| Now dance to the beat of the slow, slow turn
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| Of the world as it weeps in this slow, slow burn
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| And the shoes on your feet ain’t set to return
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| I’m the one who’s walking out alone
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| You won’t need those sandals where you’re going
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| Cuz little baby, you ain’t ever goin' home
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| And the last sounds that you’ll ever know
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| Are the vultures crying «Whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-no»
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| And soon they’ll be picking at your bones
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| They’ll be picking at your bones
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| They’ll be picking at your bones
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| Whoa-whoa-whoa
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| I caught you in the bathroom in a real wide stance
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| I caught you down by the lagoon with my hands down your pants
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| On an old dirty mattress with stains and yellow scarves
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| I start out watching then I get so hard
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| And you won’t need that mattress where you’re going
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| And I’m the one who’s walking out alone
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| And mister, you ain’t ever going home
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| Cause the last sound that you’ll ever know
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| Is my bonesaw grinding «Whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-no»
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| Soon we’ll be chipping at your bones
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| We’ll be chipping at your bones
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| We’ll be chipping at your bones
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| Whoa-whoa-whoa
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| Every single plan I make has been informed by these sour grapes
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| I’ve got one last death to fake before I settle down
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| On the last burning block of the last burning town
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| Where the devil and behemoth have been hanging around
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| And I don’t miss that old crowd
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| I do not miss that old crowd
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| So goddamned lazy and loud
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| And the last sound that I’ll ever know is my heart exploding
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| «Whoa-whoa-whoa, whoa-no»
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| Soon I’ll be nothing but these bones
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| I’ll be nothing but these bones
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| I’ll be nothing but these bones
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| I don’t need this bullshit where I’m going
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| And I don’t think I’m ever going home
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| And I’m the one who’s walking out alone
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| So bitch, quit your fucking crying |