| So much for bannin' the bomb
|
| The President’s wife is carryin' a hand gun
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| If you want blood sports for fun now
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| They call me 'the hunter' better run now
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| You hear a crack in the distance baby
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| Your phoney matin' calls resistance maybe
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| Don’t smile, we’re gonna get you
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| We’ll have your rifle off you too
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| Oh, gimme a kiss
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| And hold the candle to this
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| Foxy lady dressed to kill
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| You say you won’t but you will
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| What’s on your face and your breath Mama?
|
| You wear your glory or death Mama
|
| The liberation’s on the way
|
| Every dog gonna have it’s day
|
| Pack up your rape racks and crush box out of hell
|
| Farmer in the dell
|
| Oh, please I insist
|
| Now hold the candle to this
|
| Bring on the ecstasy and the bliss
|
| Bring on my wedding day and everybody’s birthday
|
| Blow up the abattoir, detonate
|
| We’re goin' home to where the buffalo roam
|
| Old MacDonald had a farm, E I E I O
|
| An' on his farm there was a cow
|
| There’s a new generation
|
| From Osaka, Siam and Saigon
|
| The sailors mixed it on the shore
|
| They were makin' love and makin' war
|
| Well here’s a present for the navy
|
| Same meat, different gravy
|
| Those chicks will find you, that’s for sure
|
| One, two, three, four, tell the people what she wore
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| You’re American Miss
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| Oh, hold a candle to this
|
| Oh |