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Frumpy
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Indian Rope Man
Fog dangling thick Can't see the right road, streets are sick The eight day mill it might grind slow But it grinds fine, yeah
Indian rope man, while looking on Tells common clay he's heavenly born Retired layman looks on in scorn With a transplanted heart Kiss him quick, he has to part
Indian rope man he sees the times Splitting loose the edge of minds He catches losers in his line, in his line, yeah Kiss him quick, he has to part 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网
As the fog dangling thick Can't see the right road, streets are sick The eight day mill it might grind slow But it grinds fine
Indian rope man, while looking on Tells common clay he's heavenly born Retired layman looks on in scorn With a transplanted heart Kiss him quick, he has to part Oh, yeah
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