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by Jack Johnson. Buy album CD: On And On
They say Taylor was a good girl, never one to be late
complain, express ideas in her brain.
Working on the night shift, passing out the tickets,
You're gonna have to pay her if you want to park here.
Well mommy's little dancer is quite a little secret
Working on the streets now, never gonna keep it.
It's quite an imposition and now she's only wishin
That she would have listened to the words they said...Poor Taylor.
She just wanders around, unaffected by,
the winter winds here, she'll pretend that
She's somwhere else, so far and clear
about two thousand miles, from here.
Well Peter Patrick pitter patters on the window,
the sunny silhouette won't let him in.
Poor old Pete's got nothing cuz he's been falling,
And somehow sunny knows just where he's been.
He thinks that singin on Sunday's gonna save his soul,
now that Saturday's gone.
And sometimes he thinks that he's on his way,
but i can see, that his brake lights are on.
He just wanders around, unaffected by,
the winter winds here, and he'll pretend that,
he's somewhere else, so far and clear,
about two thousand miles...from here
Such a tough enchilada, filled up with nada,
givin what you gotta give to get a dollar bill.
Used to be a limber chicken, times have been a ticking,
now she's finger lickin to the man,
With the money in his pocket, flying in his rocket,
only stopping by on his way to a better world.
If Taylor finds a better world, then Taylor's gonna run away.
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