| Thrusting in the breeze I fled my way to this hotel
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| The sun down on my spirits
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| Were the needles of the trees
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| Love hissing at a king uncrowned
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| And he flounders towards the sound
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| Of the big band lounge, care to see me sweat like a windshield wiper?
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| Then the big hand hits the six
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| That’s when they know I get hyper
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| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| Let the world sail on
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| I don’t miss it, I don’t care that it’s gone, no, no
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| Like Robinson Crusoe with cirrhosis up ahead
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| That cellar’s full of band all red
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| For you’re a one time thoroughbred, but I guess I’m proud
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| Proud to meet your death
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| It’s time to pay the damned piper
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| Crush the Cuban cigar out right on the kid’s ceramic tiger
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| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
|
| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
|
| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| Wingtips, black socks, diaper, diaper
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| Wingtips, black socks, diaper, diaper
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| I’ll throw down this cheerful boutonniere
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| And swim out with the rift
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| To stop the echo down the hallway
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| Empty in time with faucet drips
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| 'Til then it’s wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| In my wingtips, black socks and diaper
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| In my wingtips and my black socks
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| I see paper trails
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| Bubbles in champagne |