Your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation.
I have to thank my mother for paying for the piano lessons for all those years.
So you play your albums and you smoke your pot And you meet your girlfriend in the parking lot Oh, but still you're aching for the things you haven't got, What went wrong? And if you can't understand why your world is so dead And why you've got to keep in style and feed your head Well, you're twenty one and still you mother makes your bed And that's too long.
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