| Slow to marry, swift to die
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| We leave disasters where they lie
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| I know these lines look crooked on paper
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| But I swear I got it straight in my head
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| And if you’re looking for somebody to blame
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| I recommend the dead, I recommend the dead
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| 'Cause they never answer back
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| Skinny dipping in the lake
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| I got the itch, I drank the wake
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| Could somebody please hand me a towel?
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| And now we’re up on molehill mountain
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| Scraping coins out of the fountain
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| With a retinue of dirty, old, young, young men again
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| But when I get back from Nashville
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| I’m renting a room in the loyalty building
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| I’m sure that the prospects are sound
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| In the event of calamitous circumstance
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| Or great, good fortune
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| There must be a reason, there must be a plan
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| A palace in receivership
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| A jester with a busted lip
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| A catalogue of crooked answers
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| We’ve all heard about the rapist nun
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| She pulled a switch on everyone
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| The altar boys are not having fun
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| And the papacy is drawing up the papers behind closed doors
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| But in the meanwhile
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| I’m renting a room in the loyalty building
|
| I’m sure that the prospects are sound
|
| In the event of calamitous circumstance
|
| Or great, good fortune
|
| There must be a reason, there must be a plan |