| Size me up and cut me down, cut me down to size
|
| Up from something down to nothing, nothing in your eyes
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| Gotta be wrong, you gotta be wrong
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| You’ve got to lose some time
|
| Gotta be wrong, you gotta be wrong
|
| They’ve got to stand on someone’s pride
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| I can live without the praise of trust fund punks
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| If all the wrong moves shut me out then
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| I don’t ever want to need your love again
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| That old kicked feeling comes creeping back
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| On a mission, blind submission, submission to the pack
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| Gotta be wrong, you gotta be wrong
|
| You’ve got to burn some time
|
| Gotta be wrong, you gotta be wrong
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| You’re gonna swing for someone’s crimes
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| Run dry in inner circles. |
| All I ever wanted here was
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| A history written by the loser
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| If I’m nothing, give me nothing
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| You’ve got to lose some time
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| They’ve got to stand on someone else’s throat
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| (so why not mine?)
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| «Don't save your words, son, spend them everywhere
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| It’s a coward counts his words
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| And slips them out when the coast is clear
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| So lay your hateful burden down everywhere you can
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| They don’t have to like it and they don’t have to understand.»
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| Gotta be wrong, you gotta be wrong
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| You’ve got to lose some time
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| And the ones you throw away —
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| The rejects are mine |