Augusta, Georgia, late September,
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One Mr. Brown's hot tempeed,
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This man's possessed, he's restless,
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Armed and dangerous, drugged and reckless.
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Mrs. Brown you've got a lovely son
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But he's on the run on a shotgun mission
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"Listen here cocksuckers, motherfuckers, pay respect to my building.
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It's JB property and it could be the one you get killed in."
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Cops arrive, "What's this, what's happening,
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What's what, where's the hot shot?"
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James pressed his luck too far this time,
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His pick-up truck's flat out and flying.
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Cops get excited and grin with glee;
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They got themsevles a celebrity!
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7 cars give chase "You're in the clear...this is the race of the year!"
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"Faster Soul Master, they're coming at you from all directions,
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Speed's your protection...Don't look behind you 'til south Carolina"
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Cops spring a roadblock "He ain't gonna stop!"
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"He's gonna take a pop!"
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Someone opens fire, the trucks front tyres are blown out
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"Get the hell out!"...
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As six mile skid, trapped in a ditch,
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In the lap of the FBI, the Secret Service,
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The Russians, "they're all in this, they're doing it to James
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Like they did it to Elvis"
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A "good-foot" dance in a dusted trance...
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Breath tested "No Chance!" Arrested!
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-----------------
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Not Now James, We're Busy...
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Pop Will Eat Itself |