| Them jays done bombed the mices
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| Those mices squeak like the entrance gates
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| You know what those jays did?
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| They made a home in my ribcage.
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| There was forty-one horseflies tip-toein' across the horse’s flank.
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| That horse, he ain’t got no feathers,
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| But with his shank he just ruffles.
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| 'N then, the furnace, it combusted,
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| And it burned away the jays' cage.
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| That’s when underneath, they saw Herod’s face.
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| Then there was all this confusion from the hot air,
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| And those jays, they got me aggressive
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| By takin' my eggs from me.
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| But my knife is gone,
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| An' them jays, they got aggressive,
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| An' they nested in my empty sheath.
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| I rub my hand over your hair.
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| I rub my hand over your hair on your throat.
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| I rub my hand over your hair on your throat,
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| Pull it out, and set it in my pocket.
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| I talk a bird off my tree, shove him deep down,
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| He 'lites in your nesty hair.
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| Now we roam between the cities
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| And folk in their country speech and manner
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| Say the sing-song you’s do’s speaks of true new prophesies.
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| But there is a whistle ebbing from a growing crack in his beak.
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| The crack is mappin' out the country,
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| Educatin' all of where we’ve been.
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| And me and my bird have a growin' influence
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| Over people of country persuasion,
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| Over people of country persuasion.
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| You see it’s Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John--
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| They’re comin' after me,
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| Re-re-educatin' all them my birdie has seen,
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| Sayin' country people, unlearn what you seen,
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| that bird’s got a crack in its beak.
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| Go back to ginseng and senna pods and fennel seeds,
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| Learnin' spells in your old Gullah speech.
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| But they tell the flock to go back to the city
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| And let this bird sing!
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| And my bird does sing to the country.
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| And my bird decrees to the people of country persuasion.
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| I rub my hand over your hair.
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| I rub my hand over your hair below your stomach.
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| I rub my hand over your hair below your stomach,
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| Pull it out and set it in my pocket.
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| And my bird he mends his broken beak with your hair.
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| Now the message is mumbled and mistranslated,
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| But the country people believe it even harder.
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| They leave the country, 'lite upon the city,
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| Swellin' the IQ in both locations.
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| Re-education is all they need.
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| The city nods, bein' told to agree.
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| And me and my bird have a growing influence
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| Over people of country persuasion.
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| Oh my soul, soul, soul
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| People of country…
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| You see it’s Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John,
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| Still chasin' after me,
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| They got so close, finally heard my bird sing.
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| They heard through your healthful hair,
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| Blushed a deep dark red,
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| Said «oh, I see!»
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| They rubbed on ginseng and senna pods and fennel seeds;
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| Their speech they changed to the local speak.
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| Creatin' new maps with an educator’s need.
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| They’re now quiet in the country as my bird he does sing!
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| And my bird does sing to the country;
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| My bird decrees to the people of country persuasion. |