I was talkin' to the judge
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just before we left the countryside,
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paper in his hand,
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tryin' to find a way.
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Goin' by the book,
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"Man, you oughtta make a serial."
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Ripped the pages out
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'fore they pull the final curtain down.
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I remember the day
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just like the Drumshanbo hustle.
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We couldn't hear no birds,
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they were makin' not a sound.
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They were tryin' to muscle in,
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an easy way to bring the money in.
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You were pukin' up your guts
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when you read the contract had been signed.
|
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Prostitution on the run,
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'ceptin what it was last night.
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Tryin' to drain you dry,
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couldn't get too much rope.
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Tryin' to take 'em down
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just to see how far it all would go.
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Wasn't goin' very far
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and she didn't let it bring you down.
|
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Just remember the day,
|
just like the Drumshanbo hustle.
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I couldn't hear no birds,
|
they were makin' not a sound.
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They were drivin' motionless
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on the recording and the publishing.
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You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you read the contract had been signed.
|
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New York hooker style,
|
and the tarot and astronomy.
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Tell you every star,
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didn't even get your sign.
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Well they were lookin' for a scam,
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a little paperback novel or a little magazine,
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but you left it all behind
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when you pulled the rug from underneath her feet.
|
|
Just rememberin' the day,
|
Drumshanbo hustle.
|
Well you couldn't hear no birds,
|
they were makin' not a sound.
|
They were tryin' to muscle in,
|
an easy way to bring the money in.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you read the actual contract had been signed.
|
You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you heard the contract had you signed.
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You were pukin' up your guts
|
when you heard the contract, the contract, had you signed.
|
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Drumshanbo Hustle (another version)
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| Van Morrison |