Letter from America
It's Satruday night, I'm feeling on song
I think I'm alright, I know I'm all wrong
The drink that I had three hours ago
Has been joined by fourteen others
In a steady flow
So let me walk straight, don't let me feel pain
I'm gonna scratch cars with my keys again
Cos when I go home and fall on my bed
If it doesn't leave my stomach it'll split my head
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