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lyrics

Once this apocalypse has stung the face of the earth
And no more good times for us (once it really hits, once we’re really hurtin’),
That night, I’ll write a pop song about love,
Love!
Oooooh, can’t you be serious, just this once? Oooooh, you can’t be serious!
Yes I was.

I, I never gave it up for anyone, for eighty bucks (the end is nigh, cardboard sign),
Flip to the back and you can skip ahead, get to the juicy bits!
Just for you, I ruined the ending, but ain’t that love?
But ain’t that love,
Love!
Oooooh, can’t you be serious, just this once? Oooooh, you can’t be serious!
Yes I was.

Whoa, on my baby’s radio,
a mash-up of disasters, that nasty cloud of gas.
Whoa, some joker let the foul felons go,
a synchronized jailbreak in the U.S. of A.
Whoa, R.I.P., W.T.O.,
simultaneously, these violent mutinies.
Whoa, and the sheiks and C.E.O.s
they lost their assets, all, we’re stranded at the mall.
Whoa, but were you safe inside your home
when under martial order, their soldiers stole our daughters?
Whoa, and the holy soul superheroes
pray to erase the plague; their claims are strangely vague…

Meanwhile, this is the time of my life, I sing songs of bling, songs of hot gangster nights
Like this one I sent hot to the top, “We Wuz Up In Da Club,”
Those days are done, but it’s still Number One
So dance down to the old abandoned mansion
Tonight and see the bands and be with friends and feel the love,
Love!

Oooooh, can’t you be serious, just this once? Oooooh, you can’t be serious!
Yes I was.
Oooooh, can’t you be serious, just this once? Oooooh, you can’t be serious!
Yes I was. You can bet I was.

And I said,
Whoa, on my baby’s radio, my baby’s radio, my baby’s radio….

credits

from Night School, released October 31, 2011

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Tom Florida Austin, Texas

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