| Up up and down from the country to the town
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| From the streets to the city from the sky to the ground
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| in the alleyways
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| When the mad noise sound we be looking
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| But still we haven’t found what we’re looking for
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| For all of our days. |
| Searching out prophets
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| In this great big haze
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| Of consumers, banks and commercial shit
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| and most of the people they sit
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| When think this is living a part of their lives
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| But if this is living then our lives are in strife
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| But now we be searching, searching for some space
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| That’s right we be in the search for the mother place.
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| And when we get there by land or by sea
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| By climbing up a mountain or swinging through some trees
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| On arrival we’ll get a sense of the place
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| And we’ll feel it in the air and the smiles on our face will grow
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| When the living does begin
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| When the banks they are burning
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| And the mobiles don’t ring no more
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| Radiation will cease
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| We’ll be lying outside
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| Drinking brews in the heat
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| And at this destination we’ll be doing what we want
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| And not because it’s fashion but because it’s our response
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| And we’ll write and we’ll read and we’ll work and feed
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| And won’t need nothing from society 'cause i’m free
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| And if you want we could write a post
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| However those with the noise find that it’s far
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| Better to search for a better living
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| Better to be alive than waiting for an ending
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| and some might say
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| That place don’t exist
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| It’s something that you’re dreaming
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| It’s something that you wish
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| Reply is simple
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| we’ll say it to begin with
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| If we don’t find a place
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| Then we’ll make it right here
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| Cause we’re rhyming for a reason
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| We plan 'cause we can
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| And we we didn’t ask for permission
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| And we enter with a bang
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| And the empire saying
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| Everyone should have a face
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| That’s why we be in the search
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| For the mother place. |