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Lyrical Response


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Gimme a head with hair
Long, beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming
Streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there (hair)
Shoulder length or longer (hair)
Here, baby, there, mama
Everywhere, daddy, daddy

Hair (hair, hair, hair, hair, hair)
Grow it, show it
Long as I can grow it
My hair

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Oh, say, can you see
By the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hail'd
At the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars
Through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watch'd
Were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there

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Now and then I call your name
And suddenly your face appears
But it's just a crazy game
When it ends, it ends in tears

 

Pretty little darling, have a heart

don't let one mistake keep us apart
I'm not meant to live alone

turn this house into a home

When I climb the stair and turn the key
Oh, please be there

sayin' that you're still in love with me

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Don't stop thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be here better than before
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone


Why not think about times to come?
And not about the things that you've done?
If your life was bad to you
Just think what tomorrow will do

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Two dozen other stupid reasons
Why we should suffer for this?
Don't bother trying to explain them
Just hold my hand while I come to a decision on it

 

Sooner or later your legs give way, you hit the ground
Save it for later, don't run away and let me down
Sooner or later you'll hit the deck you'll get found out
Save it for later, don't runaway and let me down, you let me down

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In the day we sweat it out on the streets
Of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through the mansions of glory
In suicide machines
Sprung from cages on Highway 9
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin' out over the line
Oh, baby this town rips the bones from your back
It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we're young
'Cause tramps like us, baby, we were born to run
Yes, girl, we were

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Blood on the rooftops, Venice in the Spring
Streets of San Francisco, word from Peking
The trouble was started by a young Errol Flynn
Better in my day, oh Lord
For when we got bored we'd have a World War, happy but poor
So let's skip the news boy, I'll go make that tea
Blood on the rooftops, too much for me

 

 

Edited by cwater10
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