| After salvaging a good but rotting wood bass guitar
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| On a late night trip to the city dump
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| The man with the dirty disco twelve inch hands
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| Got in his light blue van
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| And heading to the school dance
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| He noticed cold water creeping up the cuffs of his pants
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| He swerved to dodge two people
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| Planting flowers in the middle of the on-ramp
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| And as the water level in the van, it began to rise
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| He attributed the water to the bass guitar
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| (and that’s probably why it was in the trash in the first place)
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| And as the water got to the bottom of his ribcage
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| He thought about his laundry in the back
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| And the brand new dress shirt
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| And how the water’d sog the starch right out of the collar
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| He probably should have pulled right over to the shoulder
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| But he was late for the dance
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| And he couldn’t reach the bass from where he sat
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| To throw it out the window
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| He was five minutes from where the function was
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| And he could hold his breath for two or so minutes if he must
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| Brand new skinny ghost
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| I don’t trust tall dudes as far as I can throw 'em — that isn’t far
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| Meet your brand new angel monster
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| Microwave, meet your maker
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| But if i could, I’d throw 'em head first into the ground like a javelin.
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| And leave 'em there. | 
| Feet protruding out of the dirt like his headstone:
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| here lies tall dude
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| Brand new skinny ghost
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| Meet your brand new angel monster
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| Microwave, meet your maker
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| Brand new skinny ghost
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| Meet your brand new angel monster
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| Microwave, meet your maker |