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- Заела грусть
Friday left me fumblin' with the blues
And it's hard to win when you always lose
Because the nightspots spend your spirit
Beat your head against the wall
Two dead ends and you've still got to choose
You know the bartenders
They all know my name
And they catch me when I'm pulling up lame
- хлопаем в ладоши
Sane, sane, they're all insane
Fireman's blind, the conductor is lame
A Cincinnati jacket and a sad-luck dame
Hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more