| This is the day of the expanding man,
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| That shape is my shade, there where I used to stand,
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| It seems like only yesterday, I gazed through the glass
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| At Ramblers, wild gamblers, that’s all in the past
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| You call me a fool, you say its a crazy scheme
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| This one’s for real, I already bought the dream
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| So useless to ask me why, throw a kiss and say goodbye
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| I’ll make it this time, I’m ready to cross that fine line
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| I’ll learn to work the saxophone
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| I’ll play just what I feel,
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| Drink scotch whisky, all night long,
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| And die behind the wheel,
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| They got a name for the winners in the world,
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| I want a name when I lose
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| They call Alabama the crimson Tide
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| Call me Deacon Blues,
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| Deacon Blues
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| My back to the wall, a victim of laughing chance
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| This is for me, the essence of true romance,
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| Sharing the things we know and love
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| With those of my kind,
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| Libations, sensations, that stagger the mind
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| I crawl like a viper, through the suburban streets
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| Make love to these women, languid and bitter sweet,
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| I rise when the sun goes down,
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| Cover every game in town, a world of my own,
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| I’ll make it my home sweet home,
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| This is the night of the expanding the man,
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| I take one last drag, as I approach the stand,
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| I cried when I wrote this song,
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| Sue me if I play too long,
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| This brother is free
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| I’ll be what I want to be |