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the wreck of the barbie ferrari |
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Saturday
night he comes home stinking |
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sunday
morning she wakes up thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking |
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does
she need to get the kids dressed to go to church |
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he's
pulled a shotgun out of the lurch |
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he
heads for the TV room starts to search |
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his
problems swollen like a river and his reality's shrinking |
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he
finds them huddled by the toy box and splatters 'em all |
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the
ken and the midge and the skipper doll |
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they
look like a family but they're really not at all |
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well
he's sad but he ain't sorry |
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it
ain't the end of the world |
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it's
just the wreck of the barbie ferrari |
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he
wonders if he ever said I do |
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to
that little blonde plastic voodoo |
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and
his mind's gone fishin' |
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well
it started just as plain as the nose on your face |
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now
it's in a thousand peices all over the place |
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he
thought she was driving but it's twisted beyond recognition |
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all
the diapers and the tutus and the basketballs |
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she
was givin' them a lift to the promised mall |
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but
somewhere by the TV that V-12 stalled |
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as
he loaded the chamber her eyes got starry |
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it
ain't the end of the world |
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it's
just wreck of the barbie ferrari |
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when
they get home from church won't they be sorry |
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he's
cornered 'em all on his urban safari |
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It
aint the end of the world... |
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He's
played with cars and guns since he could crawl |
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now
he wishes he'd never met that doll with her face gone |
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there
wasnt nothing he ever thought about |
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he
couldn't drive through or shoot his way out |
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as
he surveys the family room littered with dolls |
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he
can't find one leg to stand on |
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he
aims the gun at his head now he's starting to cry |
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looking
for the courage to let it fly |
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can't
live without his family now that something has died |
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he's
not sure who's hurt not sure who's sorry |
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It
ain't the end of the world... |